The Gift
by Negare
Summary: Four Autobots find themselves human. Two humans find themselves greiving. One Autobot finds themselves with a hideous choice. Warning, language and violence.
1. Corpus

**Author's NB: **I had an idea for this story years ago and actually started writing for it but then got lazy and didn't get past chapter 3. I found it on of all things a 3 ¼" and decided to have another go at writing it. I edited it a heap and I did what so many have and I have ignored a good deal of Transformers official mythos so there will be characters mentioned who should be dead, but you'll figure it out as you read where I've taken poetic license.

**Disclaimer: Me no owny Transformers**

**--**

**The Gift**

**Chapter One**

**Corpus**

(In the flesh)

Staring down at the intricate curved ridges on her finger tips, the reality slowly sunk in. She was human, she was really, really human. Flesh covered with skin and wrapped around organs and bones and whatever else these creatures they protected were. The thoughts that passed through her human mind concerned her. Would she ever be her real self again? An Autobot who could transform and roll into battle with the Decepticons? How could beings of flesh, humans, have this kind of technology? And could it be reversed?

Arcee placed those amazingly shaped hands with the biologically unique patterning up to her face. It felt so strange for those soft hands to be holding that soft face. An index finger rested against a closed eye. Squishy.

"You right, Arcee?"

She looked up and saw Springer standing there.

"Yeah… sure. Just wanna get back home".

Rodimus stood by the door of the shack they hid in. Magnus next to him peering out the window, his firm, but still soft, hands parting the flimsy old curtains.

"I don't think this was intentional, we weren't meant to survive this… and certainly not in these forms".

The city commander continued to stare out the window without altering his view. Obviously in human form they didn't have the luxury of expanded visual range.

"What are we going to do, Prime?"

Arcee asked standing from the crate she sat upon.

"You head back to Metroplex and try and find someone to listen…"

Rodimus continued to explain his plan and what they would they each do to try and find their way back to metallic forms. Arcee of course, hadn't meant what they were going to plan wise… regardless; she had to put aside any thoughts of failure and of remaining in these short lived forms.

--

"So you're Arcee, the Autobot?"

The man reclined in the large cushioned chair, sitting across from her in the small room.

"I keep telling you, yes! Some humans had some sort of machine, it sucked us right out of our bodies and…"

"And into the bodies of humans?"

"YES!"

"Did these human bodies have people in them before? Are their… essences… in your robot bodies?"

"No… well, maybe, I don't think so".

"How long have you had these thoughts that you were an Autobot?"

"I am an Autobot!"

"Yes, yes, but how long have you been an Autobot in a human body?"

"I don't know, about half a rotation?"

"Half a rotation?"

"Yes, half an Earth's rotation… about 12 of your hours".

"Of my hours?"

"Why aren't you listening to me? Rodimus and the others are out there! In human form! They could be hurt or worse! Why won't you believe me?"

"I didn't say I didn't believe you, _Arcee, _I'm just interested to know more about you and how you came to this circumstance".

"I already explained! We went to investigate a warehouse to try and stop a gang from planting more explosives around the city. The police commissioner requested us personally".

"And that's when you ran into the humans who took you out of your body, your robot body and then put you in this body, this human body?"

"Yes!"

"And so you and Rodimus, Ultra Magnus and Springer decided to try and get your robot bodies back and you were sent here?"

"Yes! By Rodimus!"

"Your commander?"

"Yes! You must know that, you work here!"

"So, _Arcee, _do you have any other concerns at the moment? What are your living arrangements like? Do you have a job?"

"I don't' think you believe me! The only concerns I have at the moment is that I'm stuck in this human body and my friends are out there stuck in human bodies! I have no living arrangements because I'm not really human! And the only job I have is as an Autobot warrior and I was sent here to try and get you people to believe that I'm really Arcee!"

"Okay… Have you taken any drugs tonight, _Arcee?"_

"What…? NO!"

"Okay, what about alcohol? Have you been drinking, _Arcee_?"

"Of course not!"

"Are you on any regular medication?"

"I've told you! I'm Arcee! An Autobot! I don't take any drugs or alcohol or any of those human vices! Just get Ratchet in here, or First Aid, or Perceptor! Find Kup! He'll be able to confirm me! I know things that only an Autobot could know".

"Like what? What other things do you know what only an Autobot could?"

"I can't tell you! It'd be a security breech! Please! Just go find Kup!"

"Have you thought about harming yourself, _Arcee_, do you have any plans to kill yourself?"

"What… NO! Of course not! Just get Kup! JUST GET HIM IN HERE NOW!!"

"Alright… okay, you just stay here then and I'll go find Kup".

--

"What's the say, doc?"

"HHhmmmm, definitely delusions of grandeur. I think we're definitely dealing with a case of split personalities, possibly multiple personality disorder. I'm concerned she might have also ingested narcotics tonight, so I think we need to let her sober up and then reassess her mental state. That way the chemicals should have gotten out of her system".

"Well, sir, we don't really have the facilities for that".

"Okay, she definitely needs to be placed under a compulsory treatment order, so I'll get the paperwork done. Should only take 20 minutes, then I'll organise a transfer over to Silver Falls facility and they can hold her in seclusion until she sobers up a bit".

"What about insurance? Silver Falls is pricey and the last thing they'll want is to be forking out for some crazy lady to come down from her high".

"Its okay, the Autobots fund this sort of thing for people who show up here, something to do with one of the treaties they signed with the government and the UN".

"Alright, doc, we'll you do what you gotta, I'll go sort out secure transport".


	2. Dēflectō

**Chapter Two**

**Dēflectō**

(To weep bitterly for)

"Carly? Carly? Are you alright in there?"

The man with uncontrollably curly brown hair stood on the other side of the bathroom door and knocked again.

"Carly?"

He sounded a little more worried as he spoke her name again.

"Carly! You're freaking me out here, honey; say something or I'm going to have to break the door in".

There was silence for a moment and Spike then heard movement, the lock on the door unclicked and his wife stood before him with tears in her eyes.

"Spike…"

She blubbered as she fell into his arms, her wet face burying into his shoulder.

He didn't have to ask what the problem was as his eyes were drawn to the blood covered toilet seat and multiple towels lying around the floor. He sighed inwardly and tried to hold back his own tears and regrets.

"I know you want another… but I just can't take it any more… I've lost fourteen Spike. Fourteen!"

"Alright… I understand. Maybe when you've had time we can talk about adopting. I have a trip to China coming in January; maybe we can look at options from there. You always said you wanted a girl".

Carly seemed to calm down somewhat when he replied. She nodded bleakly and then pulled back from her husband.

"Guess we better to head to the hospital".

She said as she picked up one of the bloody towels and dropped it in the bath tub.

The man watched his wife go through the motions.

--

The young nurse handed Carly the consent for the D&C to remove any remaining products of conception that her tired body had been unable to dispel, as the emergency doctor phrased it so tactlessly. She wiped a tear from her eye and signed on the line with the green pen she had been handed. Spike was aware of his wife asking the nurse about the return of any of the "baby" that was left. The nurse shrugged, said she didn't know, made some harsh comment about why the hell would she want a few shreds of placenta and maybe half a blob back? Carly burst into more weeping and Spike cradled her gently, glaring with disgust at the nurse. The woman took that as a sign, took the form and left the room.

They didn't need to be given any miscarriage support group brochures as they had a pile at home. They also didn't really need the surgeon to sit down and explain the procedure and what was the purpose, as this wasn't the first D&C Carly had been through for this reason. The surgeon further explained there might be a wait as there had been a gynae emergency and all the theatres were in use, so maybe a few hours before it would be her turn, he reminded her to not eat or drink and then said the nurse would direct them to where to wait. Again, all info Spike had had before. Carly looked tired and lay back down pulling the flimsy sheet over her form and closing her eyes attempted to get some sleep. Spike told her something about wanting a coffee and left.

This was one portion of his life that he and Carly kept from their Autobot friends. Carly and Spike had wanted more then one child. Carly had wanted at least 3, Spike wanted more. Spike had a brother Buster, but he was a lot older and hadn't had a lot to do with Spike. The young man felt somewhat empty, growing up he had a lot of friends, but after the loss of his mother he really start to feel short changed by being essentially an only child. He had a lot of envy for his friends and cousins who had multiple siblings. Carly had an older sister and two younger brothers and loved every moment of it. Even Chip had a sibling, a girl two years younger who would run pushing the computer genius in his chair like she was possessed by some speed demon.

Spike found his coffee, a machine that trickled out a barely drinkable ooze of brown into soft cups that didn't quite offer enough protection from the heat. Spike decided against asking for milk from a machine. He walked outside and stood by the lane that led into the ambulance bay and immediately gave thought to the likes of First Aid and Ratchet. There was another man standing near by having a smoke and drinking coffee which had come from the shop across the street – judging by the logo on the cup.

"Good?"

The man asked Spike as he noted the location of his coffee.

"Good for shit from a machine".

Spike grumbled, not in any mood to discuss any thing with anyone, and hoping his demeanour and tone belayed that.

"Riiiiiiight".

The other picked up on that, and took a drag from his cigarette.

"My cousin just died in there, so you don't need to get all snippy with me".

He added as he blew out a cloud of smoke which was evidence of how stale his current pack was.

Spike said nothing for a moment, took a gentle sip from his coffee and looked over at the man.

"Sorry".

He wasn't sure what else to say, really.

"Sort of serves the dumb prick right. We warned him not to fuck around with that shitty motorcycle of his, certainly not try to see what kind of speed he can get out of it".

"Oh…"

"He ploughed into a tree, thank God".

Spike turned fully to face the man and raised an eyebrow.

"You're happy he ploughed a tree?"

"Absolutely! Last thing any of us could live with would be if he ploughed into a family of five in their station wagon or an old lady walking her poodle along the road".

Spike got the idea and turned back to leaning against the wall of the building.

"My wife just miscarried".

"Oh man, I'm so sorry".

"This makes fourteen!"

"Wooh".

"Fourteen! Holy shit! I knew it was a lot but I certainly didn't think she was keeping score".

Saying the number didn't make it any more real for the man, he simply took another swig from the cup and contemplated upon what that really meant… fourteen. He never would have had fourteen children, as the timing wouldn't have worked out. Carly fell pregnant easily enough, even with IVF, but there was just something going wrong, every time she reached about 10 weeks she'd loose the child. She'd made it to 13 weeks last time.

They'd been to a number of specialists, clinics and adoption agencies in an attempt to further their dreams of a larger family, but all had fallen short. Spike oftentimes wondered if their pursuit of future siblings for Daniel was actually resulting in them neglecting him. Carly's distress after each miscarriage didn't seem to help him much, she didn't focus on him. He was almost 15 now and perhaps it was time to call it quits on these attempts. Carly and Spike had been quite young when Daniel was conceived, perhaps the only reason they actually wed was because of her falling with Daniel. Carly had actually wanted an abortion but nosey old Wheeljack scanned her one morning when she was outside the Arc throwing up behind a few rocks. And while Spike told her Wheeljack and the Autobots probably wouldn't care if they found out about a termination, she was still too embarrassed to actually risk going through with it. Of course, the moment Daniel looked up at his mother, his tiny pink hands clasping her fingers, his little pink face scrunching up as he began to cry for milk, any thoughts of regret passed and she loved him with an intensity any good mother would hold. There was no problem with Daniel's pregnancy, it progressed normally, text book as the midwife had stated. The problems started after Carly's second pregnancy.

The second child came into their lives a year after Daniel had entered their lives. Carly was spending more time at home so no nosey Autobots to scan. His wife had been so excited, Spike too. But at their first scan to confirm the pregnancy at 8 weeks something gave the medical professionals something to concern themselves over. At 16 weeks the diagnosis was confirmed. Trisomy 21. Better known to the community as Downs Syndrome. They argued back and fourth for about over a month as to whether to continue with the pregnancy. Carly wanted more children absolutely, but thought it really unfair on Daniel to bring into the family a disabled sibling, a child who would demand a lot more time and care. Spike was of the mindset that if they could have one Downs child when Carly was so young and both of them had no family history of the condition, then really, what was the chance of having another Downs child later? Spike argued they might as well have the child and look at adoption if they wanted another. Carly debated that an abortion of the child would be best for all concerned and if they did later on have another pregnancy of a Downs child then they could keep it as Daniel would hopefully be older. In the end, at 23 weeks and 7 days, Carly walked into the late term clinic and with Spike at her side, their unborn child, who they wanted very much, they just didn't want the Downs, an intact dilation and extraction was performed. Spike had a range of good friends, one such an abortionist who Spike had been best friends with as children and into High school, the man opened up shop, so to speak, after hours, at about 2 in the morning in the hope to avoid the protestors and any camera man who might like to follow around the Ambassador of Earth. It also provided a child that was essentially intact and could be cradled and sobbed over and placed in a small coffin and buried out the back of their property. Spike told anyone who asked that the cord had become rapped around the baby's neck and the little girl had died in the womb. This warranted sympathy and more importantly, no follow up questions.

Ever since then, Carly had been unable to maintain her pregnancies. One of the specialists they saw said uterine scarring caused by the termination was essentially starving the children that tried to grow in her womb. After that comment Carly obtained a new specialist, she never spoke of it. Never talked about it, and certainly didn't want the abortion to be the reason for her following miscarriages.

Spike finished his coffee, dropped the cup in the bin and walked back inside, ignoring the man who smoked and was nattering away about his wife's cousin's hairdresser's dog's veterinarian's neighbour's minister's daughter's friend's mother's boss who had heaps of miscarriages and the reason was something to do with eating too many shell fish or something that Spike just didn't listen too or cared to register.


	3. Inops

**Chapter Three**

**Inops**

(Helpless)

Arcee, or rather the human form of Arcee, found herself sitting in the back of an EDC van that drove from Metroplex towards some facility called Silver Falls. From what she understood it was some form of hospital where humans with illnesses of the mind were sent. And she was deemed one such human at the present. She couldn't really blame them, really. Humans had such a hard time branching out and thinking outside the box, as their saying went. It was too much for them to believe an Autobot could end up in a human form. Spike's adventures as "Autobot X" were of course hidden, as Spike and his father pointed out to Prime that humans who had conditions that threatened their human forms, illnesses and injuries, could start knocking down their doors asking for robot bodies. Prime was only too happy of course to keep this event under wraps. Sparkplug had already come under fire from family groups saying he was endangering Spike by hanging out with these robots, and of course, an event that led to an injured Spike's mind being placed in a machine was certainly evidence to their cause.

Arcee was aware of the van slowing down and turning, followed by the van wobbling about; obviously they were now driving on a metal shingle road. Without her metallic body she had no internal chronometer and thusly, no way of being able to measure how much time had passed. But the shaky drive along the gravel road seemed to take a rather long time. She banged a few times on the sliding window division between her small compartment and the driver's cab. She was given no attention so instead sat back against the wall and wondered if she'd ever see her pink and white form again. The van came to a stop and when the doors opened she was greeted by two human males, large by any standards who stood either side a woman in grey scrubs and a white thigh length coat. The woman smiled politely while the two men had dull looks on their faces.

"Hello, miss. My name is Rita; I'm one of the nurses here at Silver Falls. These two gents are Steve and Jack and they're going to help you out of the van and we'll take you inside and have a nice chat. Just so you know, if you play up or try to escape I'm going to have to sedate you. I don't want that, and I'm sure you don't".

She seemed so patronising and certainly not one who was going to listen to reason from the human transformer. Arcee decided against arguing with these people, obviously if a human doctor didn't believe her then a human nurse and her two lackies, who were below the doctor on the medical professional food chain certainly weren't going to take her word. Arcee's shoulders drooped and she sighed softly.

"I won't be any trouble".

--

Arcee found herself sitting in a rather comfortable chair in a small room with no windows. It was painted a light purple colour and bar the other chair in the room it was devoid of furniture or trappings.

"Hello".

Rita the human nurse walked in with those two men. One stood behind Arcee the other stood behind the chair Rita parked herself in. The woman had a pile of papers with her and a patronising smile on her face.

"Let's have a chat, _Arcee, _is it?"

Arcee nodded, inwardly irritated. Well aware that even pretending to "sober up" and acting as though she was just drunk and not believing she was really an Autobot wasn't going to help. Eventually Rodimus and the others would gain their bodies back, they would query as to where Arcee was, and eventually someone would connect the dots and find the human Autobot here, in this place.

"I'm going to ask you some questions and I'm going to have to ask your patience on the matter as you would have been asked them already but I have to get the answers from you here to properly admit you to our ward".

Arcee nodded without any verbal acknowledgement, she was feeling the human system warning that was exhaustion.

"Now, when were you born?"

Arcee looked blankly at the nurse for a moment, she didn't have a "birthday" like the humans classed it, she had a day which could for all intents and purposes be labelled a "creation day" but they weren't celebrated annually like the humans did. It sort of didn't make sense when you lived for millions of years. But she couldn't very well say she didn't have a birthday if she wanted to act as though she wasn't insane.

"4th July, 1980".

She said hoping it would coincide with the age she looked.

"I thought you were an Autobot, how can you be an Autobot if you were born 30 years ago?"

The nurse asked.

"I'm not an Autobot. I guess I was really just drunk".

"I see… so your birthday is the 4th July?"

"Yeah".

"Independence day. That's quite a day to be born".

"Well, I couldn't help it, now could I?"

Arcee replied, realising suddenly that the day she selected, the date she always seemed to hear the human speak of might just make her look like a liar.

"Do you have any medical problems?"

The nurse continued.

"No".

Well, maybe Arcee did, but she hadn't been in this human body long enough to figure it out.

"Any childhood illnesses?"

"No".

"I see… so you never had chickenpox or measles".

"Well, I had those".

She remembered when Spike had relayed to her and other Autobots that Daniel had fallen ill with those two mentioned something about pox and that it was the best to get it out of the way now then let him suffer it as an adult.

"Did you parents get you vaccinated?"

Arcee didn't know what that word was and didn't know how it was relayed to humans, but it seemed like she better reply in the affirmative.

"Yeah".

"And when were you vaccinated?"

"I can't remember, but when I was supposed to, I guess".

She decided best not to elaborate for fear of revealing her ignorance.

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'm…"

Arcee thought for a moment, if she said she had a job, a particular job, they could be able to research her indentify more closely.

"I'm unemployed".

She quickly added.

"Receiving any benefits?"

"From being unemployed?"

Arcee thought out loud, unsure how being without a job could warrant receivership of benefits. Seemed if you didn't have a job you wouldn't get anything…

"So how do you live?"

"Ah… I'm not too good with biology".

The Autobot replied unaware the nurse was inquiring how she paid for food, rent, power et cetera.

"Then where do you live? Do you rent or own?"

"I live in town. I own".

"What town?"

"Ah… Central City"

"Where about's in Central?"

"In Resolve Drive".

It was where Spike lived, she was sure if push came to shove and someone showed up on his doorstep that Spike could at least get Arcee out of here and back to base, but she couldn't recall the denomination of his abode.

"Which house in Resolve?"

"The big blue one".

She replied.

"I mean which number".

"I can't remember".

She said hoping that memory loss maybe another symptom expressed by a drunken human.

The nurse seemed to accept it.

"And when did you become sexually active?"

Arcee had to strain to think of this one, sexually active? What did that mean? Wasn't sexually a word to do with the human form of interfacing? Better just make up an age and hope it coincided with general human behaviour.

"When I was 7".

She said. The nurse gasped in reply.

Arcee was suddenly aware that perhaps she had answered wrongly.

"Can you tell me a little about that?"

The nurse asked her voice suddenly a lot softer and gentler in approach.

"Um… I don't see how it's any of your business".

Arcee replied, which was what she had heard Carly say to Wreckgar when he had asked her something that Spike had later referred to as "dodgy".

The nurse quickly scribbled something down and then continued her interrogation.

"So how do you feel that event affected the rest of your life?"

Arcee didn't see how the event of first interface would effect upon the rest of her life and how its effects would warrant questioning from a human nurse. Of course, the issue of interfacing in the human society was rather contentious, while the humans seemed to be rather obsessed with portraying human interfacing and courting behaviour in their media, in the human medical community it seemed to be heavily monitored. They were an odd species.

"I don't' think it affected my life at all".

Arcee replied. Thinking about her own experiences.

"You're safe here, _Arcee, _you can say whatever you want and no one is going to hurt you or treat you badly because of it".

The nurse lent forward and gently placed her hand on Arcee's human shoulder. Arcee thought the behaviour was strange but thought better of saying anything regarding it as the last thing she needed was to be spending any more time in this place.

"Well, it did bother me that the mec… male I did it with, I never really liked him all that much, it was just sort of a, well, lets experiment and see what happens kind of thing".

Arcee said, the nurse looking even more horrified.

"And you don't think it was a negative event in your life?"

"Well, negative in the fact I didn't really like him, but for regarding everything else it was fine. I don't' give it too much thought now".

"I see… did he say you had to keep the secret? That you'd get in trouble if you said anything to anyone?"

"Well, actually, he did say that…"

Arcee was quite surprised, how could a human nurse pick up on that fact? Arcee had her first interface with one of her commanding officers, a mech who was already "married" to another femme who was high up in Elite's command structure. The mech had said it was their secret, and they needed to keep quiet otherwise they'd both get in trouble, but more Arcee then him, as he'd deny it outright!

"And what do you think of that man now?"

The nurse asked.

"Well, I felt sorry for him at the time, there were events in his life that prevented him being with his… wife. So, I agreed to do it with him so he wouldn't feel bad, and it honestly wouldn't hurt my goals to have him owe me a favour".

Arcee replied.

The nurse seemed speechless for a few moments.

"…and so at 7 you had sex with this man and you did so because you felt it would benefit your life goals? What goals were those? And where did you get the idea to do that? To have sex for your own benefit with a married man? And at the age of seven?"

"Well, some of the other girls I knew had said that's how they had advanced in life, by having sex with other men. But as for my goals, I'd wager they're the same as every other girl, I just wanted for all the fighting to end".

Arcee suddenly held her tongue, realising she'd just dropped a big one.

"Fighting to end? What fighting?"

The nurse obviously had been trained to an excellent communicator and interrogator, able to pick up on things that most wouldn't notice.

"Ah, you know, the usual fighting that takes place at age 7".

She hoped that would be accepted, Carly had once told her that children at that age could be particular vicious to each other and were always fighting. Danny had come home from school with a black eye and a torn shirt. He had been the target of some "bullies" and they had attacked him after a Decepticon raid on a power plant had killed hundreds and two of them had been co-creators of an immature human in his class.

The nurse seemed to understand or at least know better then to press further.

"How about your sexual activities now? Do you feel that sexual event when you were 7 has affected how you relate to men now?"

"No, not at all. I just don't' think about it. I did what I had to at the time and if I was in the same situation again I'd probably do the same thing".

The nurse seemed horrified momentarily but quickly pulled her outward signs of disgust into line and continued.

"How is your sexual life now? How many partners would you say you've had in the last year?"

Humans had such a small amount of time to live their lives, and a circular rotation about the sun was deemed a long time. Arcee tried to put in terms the nurse could understand, and hopefully would be such that this conversation would end. Arcee began to realise she would prefer the back of that van then in here.

"Well, I have a stable relationship at the moment, but as for partners, before him I'd average maybe 100 partners a year".

"I see… and how do you feel now with only one partner".

"Well, Spri… ah… Samuel is far from conservative in regards to our exclusive nature. He's probably had way more girls then I have, and he is older then me".

Arcee quickly substituted Springer's name for a human designation.

"Do you enjoy your relationship with Samuel? How does he make you feel?"

"I value it as much as any other relationship I guess, I mean, he could die at anytime, and so could I, so we just enjoy what time we have and accept that each of us could meet another individual we want to have sex with and so we do. We're open about it and it benefits both of us to know that should one of us die the other will have other options and move on".

Rita raised an eye brow and really was starting to get concerned about _Arcee. _This poor woman had more issues then just getting intoxicated to the point she believed she was a Transformer. Her training gave her evidence and cases she'd known of that pointed to this poor woman sitting before her had been so horribly abused that she had made it "normal" and that it was still torturing her years later – and she was just too mentally ill to realise that.

"Well, I think we've talked enough for tonight, I'd wager you want to have something to eat and drink and then you can get to bed and have a good ole sleep".

Rita stood, her pile of papers now tucked under her arm.

--

Arcee lay on the mattress that lay on the floor, she had no sheets and the heater in the room was part of the wall, so nothing could be dangled from it. Her shoelaces and belt had been taken from her and she realised as she stared up at the camera embedded in the wall was monitoring her every move. Obviously these humans believed she was a threat to herself, which was so ridiculous, if she destroyed this current form chances are she'd never be back in her metallic body. There wasn't much too do, she was just going to have to get some recharge and hope like the Pit that Rodimus and the others found their way back to Metroplex, raised the alarm and then she would be found.


	4. Portentum

**Chapter Four**

**Portentum**

(Monster)

She came out of the human version of recharge at a time she couldn't identify. It was still dark in her cell, the only light coming from a small red dot on the camera. She actually wondered if such a light would torment the frail human minds that would find themselves locked in this place. She sat up against the wall and stretched her legs out, wriggling her toes. Humans were certainly an interesting species and certainly awkwardly designed, what was up with these little things sticking out of her feet? And why was one so much bigger then the others? Hands and fingers she understood, but these… what did Danny call them once? She couldn't recall and decided to just focus on how she was going to get herself out of here.

The sound of something grabbed her attention. She looked up towards where she thought the sound had come from, but was unsure given the human inability to see in the dark. She found that not having a menu screen appear in her field of vision to give her various options was rather annoying. How did humans manage? To have their senses working independently? To not be able to increase her audio senses or alter how she saw the world, to change from colour to infrared to a form of sight that human science hadn't even discovered yet. Without her usual body she was unable to process and identify the noise. Suddenly a split of light appeared in the room. It was a rather bleak light; perhaps the source was much further from the room outside her chamber. The door was creaked open and a beam of energy was shone on her. The discomfort she experienced caused her to turn her head from that source, how did humans deal with this? A not even bright light shone into her eyes and pretty much rendered them useless unless she looked away from it. The door was shut again. For a moment she believed the door had only been opened by a nurse or aide to check that she was okay, and now satisfied they had ventured on their rounds. With her usual form she would have been able to identify that someone was standing in the cell.

"Well, hello there… _Autobot_".

The voice, male, said. It was drenched with scorn and sarcasm. Footsteps in the dark approached her.

"Who… who are you? What do you want?"

She asked firmly. The human female attempted to stand, but her ankle didn't support her well enough on the soft mattress and she dropped to the floor, earning her human form a dose of pain she wasn't used to. The cold hard tiles were harsh enough, but the agony that surrounded her foot was much more displeasing. She tried to stand again but found her human locomotive appendages wouldn't support her feeble weight.

His laugh was rather disconcerting as she realised just how close he was to her. She heard him crouch on the mattress.

"Oh, you've fallen?"

He chuckled.

"Here, let me help you up".

The human Autobot became aware of a firm grasp around her neck, it squeezed tighter and she found herself experiencing a most unpleasant sensation. A pressure seemed to build up in her face; she felt heat behind the fleshier parts of her face. Her eyes strained outwards only slightly and her chest felt as if something was constricting her. She was suddenly able to give a meaning to what was going, this man was preventing her air intake and outtake from functioning correctly – this process was vital to human survival and without this the biological creature would expire. The man suddenly released her from his grip and threw her. She fumbled backwards and slammed into the wall, what moments ago had provided her with some manner of support and comfort was now causing her small human frame to ache with pain that she was unaware existed. How did humans function efficiently in their daily lives when simply knocking into firm objects at such a low speed could cause such dismay? What was the point of this assault? She found herself wondering as the man now stood over her and picking her up again threw her to the other side of the room, she hit the metal door, it made a large clang that reverberated through both her head as well as the chamber. She groaned irritably and tried to stand up against the exit.

"You ain't going anywhere, bitch".

He stomped over to her and slapped her across the face. It was a different sort of pain; a stinging sensation was perhaps how it could be described. His hands were on her shoulders again, he hauled her up, pivoted with her still in his grasp and threw her onto the mattress. He was on top of her, straddling her waist and he pummelled her face with his massive fists. An odd taste filled her mouth, it was coppery and the stench of something entered her nostrils, these human senses were certainly attuned to all manner of abilities. It was strange, for Arcee, she was well aware that this sort of brutality she found herself being on the receiving end was not current medical practice for humans in the care of minds and emotion, surely this man realised that when morning came and this Rita returned or whoever that the marks left on her form would be a tell tale sign of abuse. Of course, perhaps she would regenerate by then? Strangely, she found it exhilarating; this was new world for her, a new experience. She had been in many battles, suffered many injuries, had been in pain, or pain as Transformers knew it – but nothing like this. But her enjoyment of a new awareness was short lived as she realised this man was now atop her in a different position. He was tearing at her clothing, laughing darkly.

"Bet you Autobots don't have anything like this".

Arcee tried to fight him off, she tried to scream, but found he was too powerful and she unable to conjure a loud enough cry to warrant assistance. The sensations she had been finding new and eye opening just moments before were erased by the horror her human body screamed to her as this bastard molested her in a way no man should force upon a woman.

--

Again Arcee found herself unable to judge time. But it seemed like twenty vorns. He stood, dressed, kicked her, spat on her, then left.

She rolled over into a small ball and felt a strange discomfort in her eyes, she was aware she was crying, a human response she'd seen many times. The door shut, the light was gone and she was left with pain, grief and despair.


	5. Ēnārrāre

**Chapter Five**

**Ēnārrāre**

(To describe in detail)

The billowing cloud of smoke wrapped around several of the larger sky scrappers that adorned Metroplex. The three human males stood on the table in the immense room, all of them somewhat amazed at just how much humans had to put up with and how small they truly were.

"So, you lads are claiming you're really Rodimus, Magnus and Springer?"

The elder Autobot spoke as he parked himself down in the large chair, his massive fingers tapping on the table which caused the smaller beings to wobble about slightly as they regained their balance.

"Well, why else would we be driving ourselves?"

Springer piped up.

"Seems awfully convenient, you show up in the bodies of our mechs, claiming to be their minds removed and placed in human form. How are we supposed to believe you reclaimed your metallic forms when you're stuck in human bodies?"

Red Alert paced the room behind the senior.

"How bout we chill, human to transformer body, we know that's happened before, is it that far a stretch to reckon it could go the other way?"

Jazz asked.

"I'm not denouncing it or accepting it, Lad, I'm just after a little more proof".

Kup continued to stare at the three humans that stood before him.

"Well, then Kup, what do you want us to tell you? You want me to recount the time an Ig-yak came tromping and stomping down the mountain?"

Rodimus asked, sounding almost arrogant that he could know such a tale.

"I've told that yarn many a times, it's not such a far stretch to reckon someone else has heard it and reported it to the cons or to whomever".

"That maybe be true enough, Kup, but how many people know about the story where on Cybertron you worked in the smelting pits, where you toiled along side Alpha Trion?"

Kup stood and looked down at the human claiming to be Ultra Magnus.

"I was there along side you both, remember. I might not have all the memory circuits I did back then but I have enough to remember the pact we all made should we escape with our lives. Alpha lived up to his end; I lived up to mine… you however…"

Magnus had no intention of humiliating the elder or of dredging up a past that Kup was actually trying to forget.

"Right, Lad… you can't have known that if you were just human, and no one else bar me, Alpha and Magnus could know that… so I might have to go out on a limb and say maybe you are who you all claim to be. But I'm sure Percy and his little chums in the med bay might have a little more to bring to the table, no pun intended".

--

Perceptor stood back from the computer and turned and looked at the humans.

"Well, I must say this is a most peculiar event indeed. According to my cerebral markings readings they are who they say they are, only in human form. Also, according to my calculations the human bodies they inhabit have not belonged to any other life form – whatever transferred their essence to these forms also created them. Quite extraordinary, I might add".

"Well, that's all very well and good, but what the hell are we going to do about finding Arcee? We sent her to try and alert you guys to the happenings".

Springer pointed out.

"Ah, yes… seems a human female who was claiming to be Arcee was assessed by Doctor Tadly, the EDC psychiatrist on site, and he had her transferred to Silver Falls".

First Aid stated.

"What? They sent her to that Looney bin? Holy Primus! Isn't that the place with all those abuse rumours?"

Springer gasped.

"Jeremy would never send anyone to Silver Falls if he thought there was any substantial proof to those rumours, Springer".

First Aid replied mentioning the doctor by name.

"Well, our most pressing issue is to have you returned to your Autobot forms, I believe extending the period you spend in these organic forms will deteriorate your cerebral markings thus increasing the difficulty of re-establishing in your natural forms and increasing the risk of damage or degradation of your neuro pathways".

Perceptor explained his accent such that he could make describing a colon-ostomy sound pleasing.

"Holy Slag! What about Arcee? She's out there! Stuck in some psycho bin and she could be degrading as we speak? What if…"

"Springer! Calm yourself! She'd have to be out of her form for at least 2 lunar cycles for there to be any signs of damage, but I don't want to run the risk".

"Plus, we'll have her back here soon enough, I'll contact the doctor at Silver Falls and we'll get her released back to our custody".

First Aid stated.

"Well, lets just get you lads back home, then we'll have three less problems on our hands, and quite frankly, Rodimus, I'll be happy to hand you back the reigns. Its not natural for the mantel to go from the younger generation to the older!"


	6. Aufugiō

**Chapter Six**

**Aufugiō**

**(To run away from, to flee)**

As it was, Arcee didn't see Rita again, probably because Rita wasn't rostered on. Maybe Rita had some time off or she was only on the night shift. The young woman lay on the blood splattered mattress and wondered if she would escape this mess. She sat up slowly, noticing the pain that ached through her entire body. Wow. How did humans tolerate this? It had been quite a significant amount of time since she'd been attacked, since these injuries had been inflicted, surely the pain senses would have deactivated themselves by now, unless the human system that could automatically turn on or turn off pain sensation had been damaged… Arcee suddenly realised that humans had no such luxury, just like they were unable to increase or decrease their tactile visual, audio senses et cetera, they were unable to switch off any understanding of discomfort.

She stood slowly, her limbs aching, and she managed to walk herself into the door less bathroom and turned on the tap. Slightly warmed water came out at a rather pathetic trickle. It seemed to take ages for the water to fill in her cupped hands – there was no plug. The warm water stung against the wounds on her face and she found it annoying as the it somewhat soaked the fringe and stray strands of her blond hair. The human face staring back at her from the mirror fixed firmly into the wall was tired and weary. There was dark colouring around her eyes, which were as the humans called "blood shot", it was a strange phrase that, "blood shot", she hadn't been shot and as far as she knew there wasn't any blood coming out of them. There was, however, dried blood that had oozed from her nose and a gash in her lip. She noticed then, one of her teeth was missing… where it was now she had no idea. A large haematoma ached on her cheek and stretched down to cover the right corner of her jaw. It was so painful to touch, and when opening her mouth it was even more blatant – perhaps it was broken. She remembered when Daniel had broken a limb, his left leg, well, one of the bones in his left leg. He'd been in so much pain, screaming and crying and cradling at his injured limb, refusing even Ratchet to come near him – either he was in that much pain that he didn't want medical assistance or he knew Ratchet! A small smile tugged at the bruised corners of her blood covered lips. She gave thought to the medic and wondered how many swears would pass his lip components when he found out he was going to have to try and get them back in to their Autobot bodies. Of course, having to work with Perceptor on such a project would try even the most patient of mechs.

The water washed the dried flakes of blood into the white sink and she watched as they floated down the drain. She had nothing to draw herself on in the bathroom so returned to the mattress and wiped her face against it, less then polite but under the circumstances she had little else to do. Still feeling dirty and pained, she didn't really know what else to do, so she sat up against the wall and waited. Shortly after there was a swishing sound and as the lights came on in the door was opened. A nurse stood there with two heavy set men. The woman was of the African American variety and was holding a tray with some human fuel sitting on it, looking none to appetising.

"I've got your breakfast here. I hope you like ome… what happened to your face?"

She asked suddenly, shocked, she placed the food down on the floor and approached the injured woman; the two men close at her side.

"I'm okay".

Arcee managed, not wanting any sympathy from her captors.

"No, no you're not!"

The woman replied.

"Get the doctor".

She said to one of the men as she examined the injuries to her patient's face.

"I'm fine!"

Arcee said firmly.

"How did this happen?"

She asked the Autobot.

"I fell".

"The hell you did!"

The nurse said, stunned when she noticed the blood on the mattress and the torn state of her clothing.

"I'm serious, I'm okay, please, just leave me be".

"Look, you can't have fallen and gotten injuries like those in this room. Please, let us help you".

"I don't want any of your kind of help!"

Arcee spat back with anger as she pushed the nurse. The woman fell back into the remaining man, knocking them both from their balance. Arcee realised this was an opportunity she couldn't really afford to ignore and stood quickly and rushed to the exit. She grabbed the heavy metal door and slammed it shut; the keys were hanging from the lock. She turned it quickly, hearing it click in place. Pulling the keys from the door she noticed there was also a security swipe card. The woman wasn't sure where to go from there, but noticing a sign with the term "fire exit" over a door she decided she'd follow it and hope it got her outside. The swelling around her eyes, however, did limit her visual range. She became aware of the nurse and the other man now locked in the cell banging on the door. Suddenly an alarm went off – obviously one of them had a personal alarm that they had now activated and chances were every staff member and their sedatives and restraint weaponry was now heading her way.

Arcee saw the faces of the doctor and other security guard on the other side of the heavy set glass door. She tried to push the desk from the nurses' station towards the door, but found it was much too heavy for her human frame. Giving up on that idea was the best she could do, so turned and ran towards the fire exit, the security card beeped against the reader and the door opened. She ran through and found another long corridor leading down towards another door with the same sign. Upon reaching it she found the swipe card didn't work. She tried again but the optical reader just beeped back at her awkwardly.

"SLAG IT!"

She screamed at it as she swiped again.

"It will only open if the fire alarm has been activated".

Arcee spun around and saw the security guard standing there with the doctor, who as now holding a syringe and vial; he was trying to draw up some medication.

"Now, miss, don't make this hard, okay? How about you come back with us to your room, you can have your breakfast and then we can have a chat about all your issues".

"The only issue I have is being stuck here!"

She screamed at them, inwardly realising that loosing her cool with the staff of a human mental health facility was probably not the smartest thing she could do.

"Okay, screaming at us isn't going to help. I understand that you don't like being here. I hear what you're saying, and I'm willing to listen to you further".

"Don't you spin your mind games with me!"

She yelled back. The young human woman turned and started running towards them. The heavy set man stepped in front of the doctor and braced himself for her impact.

Arcee wasn't sure how her human body would respond while injured and well… human. Injuries could be ignored while she was a Transformer; the discomfort they caused could be pushed aside to ensure the mission at hand could be carried out without fault. Injuries that would push one into statis were a little more difficult to remove focus from, but so far she was sure the injuries that afflicted her organic form weren't pushing her towards the human version of statis.

She found her body was rather flexible and moved with ease, there was of course range of motion that the human form, no matter how flexible and well trained could not perform, but she was still able to knock the security guard down. He fell backwards; the doctor easily avoided his falling frame and seemed to know better then to take her on. He pressed himself against the wall and clasped the syringe, needle pointing down.

"What are you going to do?"

He asked calmly as she stood in front of him.

"It will be much easier to get out of here with you".

She stated simply, wondering if all the human movies she'd seen would prove this fact.

"I don't want to hurt you; I just want to get out of here".

She added, her voice sounded sincere and he seemed to understand that much at least.

"Please drop that".

She motioned to the syringe.

"Please, it's not going to help you much".

Arcee added.

The doctor sighed and did as he was told, dropping the syringe. The point of the needle struck the tiled floor and made a sharp pinging sound as it bounced a few centimetres to the side.

"Now which way out of here?"

She asked.

The doctor resigned himself to the fact that the only way to get out of this in one piece was to oblige her. He motioned to the door they'd just come through.

When they came back into the room outside her cell, there were at least four male nurses, and double that number of security along with two other doctors both standing at the desk drawing up syringes full of Primus only knew what kind of narcotic.

"Get back!"

She screeched, surprised at how desperate her voice sounded as she grabbed the doctor and pulled him back into her body, her back against the wall. The doctor she held said nothing. The dark skinned female human, the nurse from before, approach.

"It's okay. No one is going to hurt you, you're safe here. Now please, let Doctor Aeson go, and we'll talk".

"If no one is going to hurt me, why are there so many security guards? Why are those doctors drawing up syringes full of Primus only knows what?"

Arcee's logic seemed awfully on the mark for someone who was supposed to be delusional.

"They're here to make sure we're safe. You need to see it from our perspective, you seem so smart – but we don't know who you are, we don't know what you're capable of, we don't know what's going to set you off. These people have friends, families, and we want to make sure all of us can go home to them tonight. So you understand why they're here?"

"I told you who I am. You didn't believe me. I just want to go home to my friends and family, and you keeping me here against my will is stopping me doing that. Now, you can either all stand down and let me pass and go home, or the doctor here will have to lead me out".

Arcee growled.

"Okay, alright, but you have to understand we need to follow you because we can't just let you go".

The nurse continued.

"Do what you must, but as soon as I'm home you'll all understand and look pretty foolish".

"If that's what you think".

The nurse replied.

"Come on, MOVE!"

She bellowed in the doctor's ear, but was actually talking to the nurse and other staff members.

They parted and stood up against the sides of the room watching her. Arcee began the slow, paranoid walk through the gauntlet, knowing that at any point one of them could jump on her and inject in through her frail human skin some substance that would force into recharge, statis or worse.

The doctor walked compliantly with her until they reached a next set of doors, she reached out with her bruised hand and swiped the card. The beep indicated it had been accepted and the doors opened. The doctor had noticed a few times already her walk and run had been coupled with a slight limp, she seemed to ignore it but chances were she wouldn't be able to ignore it if he made it worse. He lifted his foot as per usual for a step but instead of putting it forward he swung his heel back and smashed it into her possibly injured ankle. She growled in response and let go of him, stumbling backwards. She tried to hold her balance but felt it waning. This was a bad state of affairs, she realised, if she fell over, if she didn't get herself going again, they'd be on her and she'd never get out of this hole. She looked up at the doctor who was stepping backwards, she pushed him, he fell over and she started hobbling towards the next set of doors. She was aware now of the other staff rushing after her, they knew the doctor was no longer in her charge. The next lot of doors beeped and opened as she swiped the card and she was through into a larger room.

She was in some kind of staff room. A vending machine with human fuel stuffs sat in the corner next to a cooling unit. There was a small table sitting in the centre surrounded by three large sofas. A human fuelling preparation centre was up against the wall next to the cooling unit. A desk sat to her left, a computer on top of it. There were shelves covered with pamphlets and books on the subject of the human mental state, along with large ring binders with labels denoting various policies and manuals. There were two large windows and a door that she could see through the glass led outside. She ran to the door first, and found it was too good to be true, there was a heavy lock on the door that she didn't' have the key for. The windows were her next bet. The first one was locked with security latches, but the second window could be opened further. She pushed it as far outwards as possible and managed to squeeze her human form out, scrapping her skin along her legs and sides. Suddenly her hair was pulled by something. She looked up and saw one of the security guards had a hold of her hair. She screamed at him to let go, he yelled a reply in the negative. She reached up and dug her nails into his wrists, digging as hard as she could. He didn't relent and started to pull her back in through the window.

"GET OUTSIDE AND GRAB HER LEGS!"

She heard him bellow at someone else. Suddenly a hand holding a syringe was at her face level, a doctor was reaching through the gap and was trying to push the need into her arm or whatever fleshy part of her body he could gain access too. She realised this was a bad sign; she struggled to get free but found it wasn't helping. Another idea passed into her head, she grabbed the wrists of the doctor and then managed to bite his fingers, he dropped the syringe and she grabbed it. Arcee felt great pain in her sides as twisted unnaturally to dig the needle into the wrist of the man who still held her hair. He growled, swore, and released his grasp. She fell free towards the garden about a metre below. She landed hard in the bushes and further aggravated the injury to her ankle. Struggling upwards the human Autobot knew she was going to have to get running, else she would be caught. She noticed a man come running straight at her, obviously the other security guard – he had two of his equally large peers with him, and all three were armed.

"Right! Lady! This is it! No more dicking about! I will taser you if you don't get down on the ground now!"

Arcee tried to search her now human memory banks for the term "taser" but couldn't locate any information about it, but given her recent experiences in this hell hole she figured better to want to stay around and find out. Arcee turned and started running towards what was hopefully the exit of the facility. She felt a great hopelessness when she realised she couldn't transform, she realised just how dire this situation was as she was aware of the most hideous pain tearing through her body. As much as she didn't want to, her body gave out, she dropped to the harsh ground and felt every muscle in her body tense, they didn't reply to her orders to move, they didn't respond to her desire to escape, they just remained firm as concrete and the pain didn't ease.


	7. Ecce! Homo!

**Chapter Seven**

**Ecce! Homo**

(Behold the man!)

Rodimus stepped down out of the large glass chamber he'd entered as a human. He was glad to be home, though he would miss the human condition as an experience.

"Enjoy your sojourn?"

The scientist asked.

"Nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there".

He chortled in reply.

The other two Autobots stepped from their chambers and Springer couldn't help notice that one chamber was still empty – thankfully they had her body back, now if only they could find her mind.

"Right, joking aside and everything, can we please go find Arcee?"

The helicopter stated bluntly.

"We'll get her back, Lad, don't fuss yourself".

The elder responded with a firm hand on the younger's shoulder.

"Yeah, Spring, just take it easy, we'll find her. And besides, 'Cee is more then capable of looking after herself, human or otherwise".

Rodimus added his weight to Springer's sympathies.

"Suppose you guys are right, and Primus knows Arcee would spit scrap if she thought we were getting overly worried about her".

First Aid approached and smiled with his eyes, his face mask preventing the outside world from seeing his facial expressions with more detail.

"I've been in contact with my friends in the human medical community. A human female was transported from here to Silver Falls last night, and she's still there, in their seclusion unit – quite logically they believed her to be mentally unstable and also intoxicated. They said we can retrieve her at the human designation of 10 am".

"10AM? That's another five hours away! Why the hell can't we get her now?"

Springer growled.

"Well, she's being held in their secure unit and they don't' want to upset their routine by having her removed earlier. They said she's quite safe and they will tell her we're coming and why we can't get her now".

"That's just not good enough!"

The green mech slammed his fist into the nearby support beam for the building, the entire structure shaking somewhat.

"Springer!"

Magnus replied firmly.

"We can't upset the routine of a human medical facility dedicated to caring for those amongst their kind with mental deficiencies and illnesses".

"Yeah, yeah, okay!"

Springer grumbled something that should not be repeated and he crossed his massive arms over his broad chest.

"Alright, well, I guess we should head back to the facility and check out their other technology, I wanna know what the hell those guys have and how they were able to suck us out of our bodies and stuff us in those human ones!"

Rodimus stated.

"Good idea, Rodimus, I'll take Perceptor and Skyfire and see if they can help us access the level of technology they have available".

Magnus added.

"Rodimus, Magnus, I believe Brainstorm should accompany us, his expertise in biomechanical engineering will be useful if not vital".

Perceptor interrupted.

"Alright, good idea guys, Magnus you sort that out. First Aid, keep in contact with your chums at Silver Falls and let us know as soon as they can release Arcee. I'm going to go deal with the police commissioner; I wanna know how much of a convenience it was that we show up at some place only to get busted! There could be a spy somewhere".

"And what about me?"

Springer asked.

"Spring, I've got a really important job for you; I want you to go back to your quarters, or the rec centre, and just chill. You're worked up enough as it is, we don't need you doing anything stupid".

"Anything stupid? This coming from the guy who shorted himself to enter the Matrix?"

"That was nothing compared to those shenanigans you got into with the XgnjK on MrSt'c!! And don't' even get me started about the mess with the KplFr'xx!"

"Oh! Like the Xgnjk didn't deserve it! They're always stirring the slag, if I hadn't had…"

"Alright, you two. Enough! Springer, Rodimus is right, you need to relax, maybe power down and take a recharge, Primus knows we all need it!"

Springer looked over at Magnus as he stood between the two feuding. He sighed irritably, but inwardly knew the others were correct.

"Alright, alright, but as soon as Arcee is… discharged I want to tag along with First Aid".

"If it will get you into your recharge berth, then deal".

The commander replied.

Springer got the distinct feeling that the others, his Commander especially, was not going to accept any answer other then the affirmative. He nodded, sighed again and with a quick wave and farewell, departed.

"You reckon he'll be okay?"

Rodimus asked once the green mech was out of audio-shot. Of course, Rodimus did think he would be, he just needed the reassurance the positive responses from Kup and Magnus would bring.

"Sure, Lad. Springer's gone longer times without 'Cee, he'll be fine after a good recharge and a few good swigs of energon".

Kup responded. Magnus said nothing feeling that Kup's answer summed it up. Rodimus inwardly sighed realising that once it was him who worried over Arcee. Now, however, it was Springer who lay in Arcee's arms during recharge, Rodimus didn't hold any ill will against the triple changer, only regret at his own mantle that had taken from him the normal life he had once enjoyed. Magnus, while trying to reassure him once that he could have a relationship, as Prime had Elite, but Elite knew Optimus' burdens as she shared them, and femmes with such power and responsibility didn't exist in his immediate circle of companions.

Magnus and Perceptor left soon after, Kup following with them as Rodimus stood in the chamber and stared at Arcee's body with its blackened optics, supported by heavy metal belts. He gave thought to the human bodies they had inhabited. They had not belonged to any other being – which gave him a feeling of relief, he'd hate to think humans had died so they could be pushed into their forms. Humans had short enough life spans as it was, the thought that his actions could lead to their demise made him feel sick. The bodies they had been in for what seemed like such a long time had disintegrated when they were transported back to their original bodies. Rodimus walked up to the chamber and gave the pink and white femme one last longing gaze before he decided he better get to the tasks at hands… and the many others that would have piled up in his absence.


	8. Ēvānēscere cōgitātiō

**Author's NB: **It's hot and my filthy flatmate smokes like a freight train, this gave me a headache which basically resulted in me not bothering to be absolutely spot on with my grammar and word placement in the Latin.

God above, I hate smoking!!

**Chapter Eight**

**Ēvānēscere cōgitātiō **

(Vanished thought)

Arcee woke to the sound of a human singing, though without words. The voice belonged the a woman, a relatively young one. Arcee didn't know if the human actually knew the words to the song or if the song didn't have words, or if the words were actually the "laa laa laa's" that she was using. She'd heard the tune before… was it the sound the truck that Daniel would run towards would blare out? The truck that an oversized human would try and sell some strange frozen diary product fuel? The femme had once scanned the quickly destabilising substance and had found it contained almost no nutritional value and only served to cause further distress to the human system that tried to process it. "Ice cream" was what Daniel had caused it, his parents seemed quite happy to allow their only child to ingest such a dubious substance, what was it Spike had said, "It's a treat, and you only have those every now and then"? The new human tried to roll onto her aching side but found herself unable too; she was fastened by dried and softened straps of bovine skin with metal buckles sewn through. She was sure the song had a name as the woman singing it came closer.

"Well, hello there sleepy head".

The owner of the voice leant over the Autobot.

"My name's Kate, I'm one of the nurses here. How are you feeling? Not to well I would imagine after the blast you got".

She said, her voice sounding sympathetic and there weren't any hints of sarcasm.

"I feel…"

Arcee found it hard to talk, her mouth was dry, her teeth ached and the giant muscle that served as a vocal manipulator felt heavy and sluggish. Instead all Arcee found her human body was capable of doing was groan, if that's even what the feeble sound that came out of her could be classed as.

"Yeah… take it easy, you're going to be sore for a few hours more, I'll give you something to ease your muscles a bit".

The nurse screwed a syringe into the small plastic plug that Arcee now noticed was poking out the top of her right hand. When the nurse pushed the plunger the contents of the syringe rushed into her arm, there was a chilling sensation that quickly spread up her arm, as it passed through her human system she felt her muscles relax further, the only benefit was it seemed to lessen the discomfort that whispered through her flesh.

Arcee tried to lift her head to view the room she lay in, but found herself unable too. The new addition to the human circulatory system she now possessed seemed saw to that, her eyes started to flutter and she slipped back into rest again.

The Autobot femme wasn't sure if she was resting, it was an odd sensation, she was drifting between reality and fantasy she was aware of the nurse, the song she hummed, or sung or whatever, the smell of the solid fuel created with yeast and ground wheats which was being cooked by a small appliance, she was aware of the smell of the human drink coffee, she was aware of the flickering lights above her head, she was aware of the tear that trickled from her eye down her temple and into her hair, she was very much aware of the feeling of utter distress and despair that seeped into her now human spark. If she died in this form, would she join the Matrix? The possibility of a negative answer caused her to weep bitterly, however her weakened, drugged, pained human form didn't oblige her emotional state and so didn't express her horrid state of mind.

"Please…."

She managed to whisper.

--

"Hey, Kate, it's 9.30, you wanna go get a cuppa and I'll take over?"

The male voice floated across the reality that surrounded her and made it to her human audios.

"Sure, thanks Ray".

The woman replied as she walked across the floor.

"I'll see you later, okay, _Arcee_".

Kate stood by the femme and spoke down to her, but not in a patronising way, she was a nice woman, her voice kind and gentle, and when she used the Autobot's she used it as a pseudonym and not treating it as a delusional title created by a warped mind.

"Hey, Ray, did you catch up with Jeff? I think he had something to tell you, something about a patient being discharged at 10? He didn't tell me much else, something about security".

"Oh… real? Jeff caught up with me, but he didn't say anything about a discharge, must of slipped his mind… of course, you know what he's like when it comes to paper work. Plus he had that bed allocation meeting at quarter too, so he's probably gotten tied up".

The male voice was so familiar to the drugged femme.

Kate replied in a singular term and then left for her break. The door shut behind her and Arcee was left alone, strapped to a bed, with the male with the familiar voice.

"Well, hello, _Arcee, _I hear that you've been a very, very naughty _Autobot_. We can't have you misbehaving, now, can we?"

He laughed, it was such an evil sound that Arcee wasn't sure if he was really making that noise, and then she recognised him. The man who had… her mind refused her allowance to speak it, to whisper it, to think it.

"Oh, I heard all about your adventures from Jeff. Not a bright man really, can't prioritise very well. Told your colleagues that you can't be released until at least 10am due to such a discharge upsetting the unstable and frail minds of our patients. And your little metal chums, well, they ate up every last word".

He chuckled as he bent over the woman and breathed his nasty laugh over her nose. His sticky hot breath passed over her nose and across her cheeks.

"So… I guess we only have another 30 minutes before you get home to your _family. _Do you fucking freaks even have family? Well, regardless, I'm sure they don't be too pleased when they hear how I treated you… wouldn't want a blot against my record, that sort of mark could diminish my ability to get a decent job. Can't have you speaking your little metal mind to your little metal friends. But well, if you can't stop someone yammering in a nut house, well, then where can you?"

His laugh continued, the darkness of it just seemed to lower the light level in the chamber she lay in.

"See, _Arcee, _you might not be aware, but we have drugs in the human medical field that can cause all sorts of things to happen to your little frail frame. You're one of us, now, _Cee… _can I call you _Cee?_ Well, anyway… you're obviously very much human since that muscle relaxant we pumped you full of has done a fine job keeping you… quiet. But there's other things we can give, everything from making you pee your pants to a medical lobotomy. Why, I can erase every memory you've ever had… mind you, your friends probably have your little metal body stashed somewhere waiting for your brain to rejoin it… what would happen if I gave you the mind wiping drug? Would you go into that robot body of yours without any recollection? That would benefit me to no ends".

He reached into his pocket and removed a small box. Holding it over her head so she could see, he removed the five glass vials each with a small amount of powder in each.

"This is a relatively new drug, only a year on the market, I've just got to reconstitute it – that's add some water and I've got a solution that will wipe all those nasty memories. See, we use it on patients who have horrible histories of abuse and mental illness, each vial holds 10mg once reconstituted in 10ml, but one milligramme is all it takes to wipe at out the last year of horror. Just one mg of this stuff and you won't even recall you were human… of course, would you forget who you are? Chances are your robot memories are in your head along with the experiences you've had recently. What if I gave you _all _of it? Certainly worth a shot, right? But I'd like to have a little more fun with you first… give us something worth wiping".

His laugh reached her ears, tears passed from her eyes and down their usual path, and a fear reached into her heart and almost crushed it.

--

Once the torture had passed, or enough time to cause him concern that her kind might show up early he ceased. He stood over her and without replacing his pants he mixed the vials' contents with water and then transferred all the liquid into a larger syringe he then approached her and smiled at her.

"This is going to sting a little, usually with such a large dose, well, we mix it into a few litres and then slowly drip it through over the course of 12 hours… mind you, no one's ever been given this much before, so maybe you'll be able to handle it… you could certainly handle the huge amount I had".

He laughed. It was so evil. Slowly he screwed the syringe to her luer plug, obviously he was enjoying the moments where she still retained some form of awareness and memory. He began to push it in, he was correct, it did hurt. It felt like sandpaper was being ripped up the sides of her internal vessels. She cried out slightly, her body unable to truly express the pain she was in, however, in a few minutes, she'd have no memory of the agony… or anything else.


	9. Inānis

**Chapter Nine**

**Inānis**

(Empty)

The blond woman found herself staring at her bruised and bloodied reflection looking back from the dim glass window that separated her from the new TVs. She held her hands up to her face and grimaced slightly as her sticky fingertips passed over the tender haematomas and grazes. Her breath fogged the window and after wiping it away with her grubby hand she decided to move on. Wearing only a singlet and a pair of shorts she found the chill of the morning air was uncomfortable on her bare skin. Wandering aimlessly down the slowly busying street was unsettling for her, and those that passed too close to her, they saw the look of confusion set deep in those pastel blue eyes, and the yearning to find out something, somewhere, with someone that could answer whatever questions swirled about in her head. Generally most of them just avoided her path and stepped to the side as she stumbled by.

She found herself standing at the entrance to a park. The light green grass and the deep greens of the bushy trees lured her towards it, if anything, the peace from the hustle of the city she was trying to escape would provide refreshing. Sitting down on a small wooden bench that was placed causally under a gentle rock formation that twisted into a sloping hill that supported all manner of plant life, she wasn't sure what to do, where to go. Leaning forward she rested that aching head in those sticky hands. She wasn't sure of anything. Not her name. Not where she was. Not who she was. Not anything. Instead she found herself sitting, staring at those walking around her, walking past her, running, jogging, cycling, rollerblading, she knew all those things, the names humans gave to those activities, so why did she not know the important things? A few looked at her, but most continued on their way ignoring her, or not noticing her, or pretending she wasn't there for their own comfort. Standing, she found her feet bare as she stepped on some rough gravel that scratched at the soft undersides. That was an odd sensation. She wasn't sure why, but the realisation of discomfort while being without shoes seemed… unnatural. It was like a whole knew experience, walking through this park, looking, smelling, hearing, touching, tasting, but why did it seem… how had she come to this… situation? These injuries to her head, the bruising and grazing, had they come about as the result of whatever had inflicted this loss of memory? This lack of knowledge? This emptiness?

Empty.

That's what she was. Without any personality. Without any mindset. Without any true awareness as to who or what she was, as to where she came from, how she came to be here. All of those questions had nothing but a blank stare from her mind as she strained to remember.

Empty.

She sat down under a tree and rested back against the trunk, its rough bark scrapping her through the flimsy material of her singlet. A small sob passed her lips, she scratched at her hair as she lent forward and fought to prevent a complete emotional break down in such a public place… of course, judging by those that passed, she didn't think anyone would care. Stumbling up again she decided to just get away from anyone. Maybe get somewhere quiet where she could think. Empty as she was, she rose to a standing position and began her sorry march towards a lonelier abode.

She found it in a small cabin that sat on the corner of an industrial zone. It seemed rather forebode, not really any sign of life, except for the occasional fly that buzzed by, or the stray pooch that growled at her before taking off towards some doggy destination, unknown to the human mind. There was a large graveyard that stretched along the majority of the street. Opposite it was derelict factory that had probably once produced cars. The building next to it was smaller; perhaps a warehouse or craft shop. It too was abandoned of life or activity. Next to the graveyard was an empty lot, perhaps a place of worship had sat there and for reasons unknown was demolished. The blond found a gap between the heavy rusting bars of the gate that led into the factory and squeezed herself through. Something about this facility seemed familiar, though she couldn't place any kind of reason on it as to why. A loud rumbling caused her to turn and she watched a city bus speed past, other then that there was no other activity… it was quiet again.

The young woman found a large empty truck sitting by the entrance to a small office section of the facility. The tires were gone, the cab was emptied of seats, steering wheel and any real evidence that it had been a vehicle, one door was missing and the windscreen was also gone. For some reason she felt drawn to it, though it would provide no warmth, and certainly no comfort, she pulled herself up into it and curled into a small ball up against the back wall of the cab. Closing her eyes she tried to wonder if she'd ever know who she was and where she came from. She remembered pain, suffering, stress, but didn't know where that had come from, what had caused it, or who, just that perhaps, at some time, it had transpired. There was a squeak from a small bird that landed on the roof of the cab and then started to sing its song to perhaps some mate near by, or potential mate. It was comforting, as was the small spider that was repairing fly damage to its beautifully crafted web. She closed her eyes again and tried to drift into recharge… that was an odd word, she meant sleep, she wanted sleep.

--

"Excuse me? Could you please repeat that?"

There was a certain level of anger in his voice; it was drenched through with a good dose of sarcasm and the sort of tone that would make most shrink back in fear.

"Ah, well… your friend, Arcee? We just don't know where she is".

"So… where was she last?"

"Um… she was medically and mechanically restrained in a secure unit… for her own safety of course".

"Oh, of course. It's just… well… you don't know where she is!"

"Ah… no".

"NO what? No you don't know where she is, or no you don't agree with me thinking you don't know where she is?"

"Um… well…"

"Well? Well? WELL WHAT"

"Springer. That's enough."

"Enough of what, First Aid? Enough of what? Enough of the fact that they told you that they'd keep 'Cee safe and sound until 10am by their time measurement? That we couldn't get her until then because it would bother their patients? That'd she be okay? What's it enough of, huh?"

"Well… its just yelling at them isn't going to help matters, certainly not help Arcee wherever she is".

"For all we know she could be dead! That means it doesn't matter if yelling doesn't help, BECAUSE SHE'S DEAD!!!"

"Springer, we don't know if she's dead…"

"She could have been released into the general lounge… there's at least 50 people who are in the communal areas at this time of day, perhaps someone put her there when they heard she wasn't really, well… you know".

"No… NO I DON'T KNOW??!!"

Springer turned and screamed down at the small human female, one of the nurses. She was obviously very unsettled, perhaps even fearing for her life. First Aid could see the expressions on her face, his scans revealed a raise in blood pressure, pulse and respiration – she was afraid.

"SPRINGER!"

First Aid yelled, equally loud and completely out of character. He pulled the larger green mech backwards from the woman and ended up in front of him, staring into fierce steel blued coloured optics. The helicopter merely sighed with frustration.

"Sorry, Aid".

"I'm not the one you should be apologising too".

The Autobot doctor replied softly.

"Sorry, lady".

He growled gruffly without even looking at the woman, he turned and walked away from the facility, into the large empty car park and began pacing.

"I have to apologise for my colleague".

First Aid began.

"Its okay, First Aid. I understand where he's coming from, I wouldn't be too impressed if someone told some one I cared about was okay, and then I discovered they were missing".

The medic looked down at the older male human; his hair thinning on top of his head, what he did have was gray. He had light green eyes and was cleanly shaven. Slightly over weight, but physically fit as scans revealed vital signs within normal range for a 25 year old, and not the 64 year old that stood before him. First Aid wouldn't normally scan without permission, seeing it as an invasion of their privacy, and humans loved their privacy. But under the circumstances the Autobot needed to know if he was being lied too.

"Go check the communal areas for Arcee, will you Phillipa".

The man stated to the woman, the nurse. She nodded, still uncomfortable by the presence of such large machines; she gave First Aid one more unsettled glance before turning and heading back to the facility.

"I honestly have no idea how she could have gone missing, First Aid, seriously, as soon as I finished talking to you I told the senior charge nurse on and he promised to ensure her safety. He said she was currently in isolation and he said he'd tell her about the call and that we know who she was".

"Where's this senior nurse now?"

The Autobot medic asked.

"He had to go into town this morning to access a patient being held at the police station – he's probably there now. I'll send him a page, as given his current situation I wouldn't want his cell phone to go off when he's with some un-medicated psychologically unstable individual".

"I understand perfectly. I'm sure it's probably a misunderstanding; I wouldn't be surprised if she is the communal area. Arcee is very curious about human nature and she might have asked the charge to allow her access into communal areas of the facility".

"I'll go check a few other places that Pip might not think to look. I'll talk to the other staff and get the ones out here who were on when Arcee was admitted, maybe they know something more".

"Thank you, doctor".

The metallic medical officer replied.

First Aid watched the man return to the building while still being aware of the pacing mech; he shook his head and sighed as he opened communications with the nearby Autobot base to inform them of the situation as it was, and not of what Springer would no doubt be preaching.


	10. Diū

**Author's NB: **This story has been on my mind recently, and I'm too writer's blocky to work on my others... groan. I re-read it the other day, it was crap really. Nagged me incessantly. But it's a couple of years old so that's my excuse, I'll get round to editing it at some point… but to continue:

**Chapter 10**

**Diū**

(for a long time)

The cup's contents had long since cooled, the milk had started to separate and cling to the edges, it was far from appealing. He stared down into it, wondering how long it had sat there, on that ugly coffee table his wife's spinster aunt had given as a gift on their wedding day. Was it even from today? He couldn't be sure. It smelt unsavoury, it looked even less so, laziness took him and he dared a sip. A causal yet secretive motion; he spat the half mouthful back in, sat the cup back down on the coaster – another ugly blotch in the otherwise well designed décor.

How taxing his life had become that he now had to spend so much though on the mystery of expired coffee. Springer was sitting outside. The triple changer patiently waiting for him. He hadn't given any clues yet as to why he was there. "Odding" up the street, as his son used to say. The neighbours weren't obtuse by any stretch of the imagination, anyone with a computer or access to a regular news paper knew who the man with the bushy mop of brown hair was; whom the blond haired, blue eyed genius who clung to his arm. And the child that shared their genes, though seemed to have more of the Witwicky colouring then anything from her side. A car outside their house. Very seldom the neighbours thought "oh, they must have friends over" or "Another new car? Lucky for some".

Spike lent back in his chair, well worn, and comfortable, many evenings he had spent in this thing, reclining, considering, mostly the horrors he'd seen that day, or simply trying to grasp the stupidity of other species and their wars… now who had told him not to throw rocks in glass houses? He rubbed his forehead, the greasy skin a testament to his recent dismissal of personal hygiene. Carly was upstairs, crying, again. A loud sob reached him through the wood and carpet. It'd take a few weeks but then she'd find herself again, want to try again, and lo and behold, be back in this same damn position again. Maybe it was time to pick at the brains of one of the bots. Maybe a scan, a pair of optics searching for something human science couldn't see or didn't know – but Carly was too private; some things she didn't want them sharing in. Fair enough.

He stood up. Sighed. Stretched his arms about his head and then reached down taking that cup and walked into the kitchen, pouring that muck down the sink.

"Oh yeah, that's been cooking for a spell".

Spoken aloud as he noted the last of it sludged out as opposed to poured.

A small spider ran across the bench as he placed the cup down. Turning the tap, cupping his hands, he washed his face. Time to go. He noted the tired reflection in the kitchen window. How sad. He thought. How sad and pathetic and exhausted. Wouldn't a life as an oil rig worker, a shop keep, a paper pusher, wouldn't that be an easier life? Yes, he decided it would be. Of course, no chance of a life like that now, unless the Cybertronians up and left, their war an acknowledged mistake.

"Honey, I have to leave now; I'm not sure when I'll be home".

Spike yelled before he opened the front door and left.

"Hey Springer".

Daniel walked passed the green Autobot. His backpack slung over his shoulder, a stack of books under his arm.

"Hey squeaker, how was school?"

"Shit".

"Trouble again?"

"Yeah. But not me".

"Its never you, is it, son?"

Spike asked chuckling, as he reached Springer.

"That's right dad, glad you're on my side".

"You'll always have an advocate in your old man, now get inside, do your homework and don't be too much of a pain in your mum's neck".

"Yeah, yeah, I won't be".

He grumbled. His phone rang; he pulled it out of his pocket, and started talking to someone named Stacey.

"Stacy hmmm?"

Springer asked as Spike sat in the driver's side.

"Yip, latest little bit of crumpet".

"School work?"

"Straight C student, so obviously takes after me".

"Wasn't he an A student recently?"

"Until about five months ago. Then he met that little fille de joie".

"Like that, ay?"

"Very much so. Now, Springer, what can I do for you?"

"Did you hear of our recent human shenanigans?"

"I did, just got off the phone with Perceptor, picking my brains. He wants me to come in and share my thoughts about Autobot-X… again. For comparisons I'm guessing".

"Did he say much else?"

"No, not a hell of a lot else, just went off on a spiel about the tech involved".

"So he didn't tell you Arcee is still human and now missing".

The human didn't say anything for a few moments, the look in the rear view mirror however did say enough about his thought process. Shock, mostly. Concern followed suit.

"…that he missed".

Spike wasn't sure how to tone his response, so gave it none.

"What can I do?"

"You once told me you had sources that fall outside the usual realm of… how did you phrase it? _Legality"._

"Yeah… a friend of Tracks… he and I hit it off rather well".

"How well?"

"Well enough that I got contacts I wouldn't have ordinarily have met, not in the circles I ran in".

The mechanics son recalled when he had first met Raoul; he thought he was… rad… to use the term of the day. A young man who'd lived a life Spike had been sheltered from. A life which saw every day as an adventure of sorts. Stealing cars. Running from the cops. Trying to outsmart them. And not just them, other crims, and they were the real concern, they were the ones who'd kill you, they wouldn't just slap some handcuffs on you and jail you for a few months. You'd end up with a bullet between your eyes, cinder blocks chained to your legs and your destiny would be a very wet one indeed. Spike had spent quite a few years with the much older Raoul, Sparkplug wasn't happy, but Tracks didn't seem to fussed. After all, Raoul was straight now… wasn't he?"

Spike had kept those contacts, occasionally slipping a bit of info here, a weapon or two there, keeping those lines of communication open, it provided all sorts of payoffs when needed. Never fiscal of course, stuff like that could lead a man to spend a long time behind vertical rolls of metal. But those contacts, they had provided Intel into Decepticon operations, and when the young ambassador used them, no one asked where he'd come up with that information, everyone of course knew, but they had what they needed, no harm done.

"There's information and there's _information_. And then there's times when there's just nothing. Springer, we're talking about a human female, one human female, escaped from a psych ward. My contacts… well, that probably wouldn't be something that'd even pass the desks of their grocery baggers".

"Please try Spike. Just ask about the place, a few extra eyes on the look out can't hurt".

The human said nothing for a few moments as Springer slowed for a red light but it changed to green before he could stop, he continued driving down the unusually quiet street.

"I'll get my feelers out. But I can't promise anything, Springer, so don't get your hopes up. She'll show up, probably at one of the Autobot bases in town. Talked to the Protectorbots? Their little base in Central has been going long enough that'd she know its local".

"There's knowing something as a bot, and knowing something as a human, and no offense Spike, but just because you know where an Autobot base is, doesn't mean as a little human you can just waltz on in".

Spike didn't take offense, but he was merely trying to offer suggestion. Springer realised that, apologised, and the rest of the journey was in silence.

ooOOoo

Coffee from a vending machine.

It was bland, relatively tasteless, and the only real flavour it did have was that strange metallic tang that gave one the knowledge, that yes, it came out of a machine. He poured another tiny packet of sugar into it, bringing the total to five, stirred it with the blunt end of a random pencil and then flicked through a rollerdex of names, first only.

Raoul had lived in New York, the contacts the young Spike Witwicky had made were also in New York, but those contacts had contacts in Central, in Portland, and while neither of those cities were particularly hot beds of crime, they still had their own little underworld, complete with bosses vying for top spot. Spike's fingers came to rest on one, one that had always served him well in the past, and who's info was always top notch… always came at a steep price, too.

Picking up a scrap of paper he scrawled the number down. Far from safe to make the call from his office; as secure as Red Alert could make things, you just didn't know who was listening, and sometimes, just sometimes, it was your friends whom you had to watch your tongue around. Living through a time when technology went full steam ahead; if info was entered into a computer, or any other electronic device, it could be very easily accessed, no one really gave a crap about little blank business cards, no fancy designs, just a quickly scrawled name and number, under the title of "dad's friends". It stopped most from prying – and having it in full view on his desk, well, best place to hide something secretive was right out in the open. That was actually what his grandfather used to say. Fought in dubbya dubbya two, as he would say, as a pub owner in a German town near a large air force base, fake accent and back story of course, but the list of names and addresses in the friends and usual clients sat in a book that sat in clear view of the Gestapo men who'd frequent the place looking for a blond, blue eyed fräulien.

He shrugged over the memories and headed out to find a safer phone to dial from.

ooOOoo

Spike contacted Springer through the usual means, hoping he could meet to speak in person, but Springer was already on the road, forty odd minutes from Autobot City. Spike made it brief. That he had someone out there looking. That Arcee would be found. Just a matter of time. Springer was grateful, but cut the accolades short. Celebrate and congratulate when she was safe, sound, home and femme.


	11. Pererrāre

Author's NB: Sorry about general slackery in updates, blame it on three things, 1. work, 2. study, 3. WOW.

ooooOOOOOoooo

Chapter 11

Pererrāre

(I wander through)

Night soon gave way to a rather pleasant morning. There was crispness to the breeze that lazily ambled its way through the unintended gaps in the cap she sat in. She actually found it quite enjoyable to wake to, the freshness of it even over powered the stale rotting odour of fabrics she could not find, and it certainly did a lot to remove from her awareness the unsettling stink of rust.

Odd, she mused, that the smell of rust would send a chill down her spine, tingling into her consciousness, empty as it was, why a feeling of dread?

Arcee, though unaware that was her name, climbed out of her temporary bed for the evening gone and stood barefoot on the cold concrete. The early morning sun was doing her some service as its gentle light tore through the bleakness of that forlorn looking factory. It was actually quite an artistic looking scene. The dim pastel tones of the early morning sky, hues of grey being replaced quickly with a light, softer blue, and the pleasantly mellow assortment of oranges, reds and yellows streaking the horizon; all of this wrapping that black, empty factory building in its optimism for rebirth and second chances.

She held her arm out in front, parallel to her chest, the soft light touching her chilled flesh, the little hairs standing up… goose bumps… whatever that term meant, lifted slowly. It was a strange feeling, that she could enjoy the chill of the air around her; find the freshness of it as she drew it into herself, and yet the slowly building warmth it lay across her bare flesh. Pleasant indeed, she smiled.

Things didn't seem that unfortunate this morning.

Well, that was until the various scrapes, bruises and cuts made themselves known to her. It was a strange sensation, an awareness of sorts that she felt guilty for almost activating. They had existed the night before of course, when she clambered into that derelict vehicle, but night seemed to wash them away, deep into the lower depths of her subconscious, but looking at them, seeing them on her pale skin, the acknowledge gave them the power to hurt. Yet, their aches seemed to be less… less than what? She had some spark within, some kind of memory of injury, of discomfort, but like everything else, there was no link. No reason. Just that dim emptiness that reminded her of her situation…. If she had memory indeed to allow for reminder. The injuries seemed superficial in their severity, but that didn't change the impact of the discomfort they had. Perhaps she could ignore them. She'd have to, she had other things of more importance to consider, the loss of insight, for one.

The most important questions a sentient entity would ask themselves. Who was she? How did she come to be in this place? Did she have anyone else like her, caring that she was gone? Why could she not recall who she was?

She had only fragments, nothing that could give her true insight into herself, nothing that could simply answer her queries. Hugging herself, she noted with some discomfort that her hands were a lot colder than her upper arms; perhaps time to move on, find somewhere else more welcoming, warmer.

The Factory's identity in the morning light seemed a lot less disconcerting in the morn's light… instead those moments of panic that struck her heart when she viewed it during the dimming and bleakness of the evening hours was replaced by a kind of distain at its scruffiness. The windows on the ground level long ago had been boarded up, the wood was now stained with age and the majority were showing signs of rot and damp. The windows on the upper levels were an assortment of partially intact panes, gapping holes missing their glass completely or had been giving the dignity of being boarded. It seemed random which ones had been covered over with now rotting wood, and judging by the soggy remains lying strewn about on the ground below, many more had been boarded – just had not sustained it. One window gained her attention, even if just momentarily, perhaps an office for the foreman, or some equally important individual, maybe even the staff room? The corner of the building had intact windows meeting at that logical right angle, the glass dirty, smudged and marked by the drying of years of rain. The window was segmented into two pieces, the larger bottom portion, and the top, divided by a piece of wood running horizontally. The top right section had been opened, perhaps to allow air to pass through the now abandoned building in the hope of providing a better aroma to those thinking to buy it… or the locking mechanism had long ago failed and the window had succumbed to gravity itself. A frail piece of cloth danced on the currents of air, its motion catching her eye and drawing it to the darkened figure staring out at her.

She gasped.

Stepped back.

Had not expected anyone in that place!

A homeless man? A figment of her imagination? Perhaps something more innocent and less sinister, like a real estate agent giving the place a "once over" to assess what needed to be repaired. Perhaps a repair man himself?

But the figure seemed, almost feminine.

Her fear abated quickly when she realised what could they do? They were all the way up there, unless they had a rifle, they couldn't exactly rush down quickly to her and dispatch her to another form of existence. The woman who knew not her name decided to leave. She turned her body completely towards the fencing to see where she could exit the facility's grounds; she saw not far from her the gate where she had squeezed into. She'd head back the way she came, maybe find more than empty buildings and unsettling cemeteries. The woman, unsure why, gave a quick glance back over her shoulder. The figure was gone from the window, but felt a pang of weariness passed through her, as she felt as if she was still being watched. It seemed more unsettling to her than not knowing her own name. The woman wriggled her way back through the gate and onto the street.

ooOOoo

Early morning gave even the cemetery a more cheery disposition. The concept of fear of the unknown, a disturbed sense of facing mortality and an almost built in evolutionary trait to avoid places like this passed her over just as gradually as night had surrendered to the dawn. Those feelings of dread, justified or not, were now replaced by feelings of peace, of calm, of revered finality. She decided to walk through, to admire the trees and plants whose lives and pruning had been neglected, to feel the soft, slightly damp blades of grass push their way between her toes, the desire to contemplate the names upon the moss covered rocks that marked someone's final resting place.

The sign on the stone fence that surrounded the place bore a language she felt perhaps was not her first… she understood what it meant, of course, but was unable to remember how she learnt it. Perhaps that was normal.

"Sea View Cemetery: 1820AD – 1946AD".

There was more, but the writing had been damaged and was no longer discernable. The stone fence was short, perhaps half a metre high, it was built, perhaps lovingly, by stone masons, placing disjointed rocks and stones that seem unwanted by other construction projects into something that would guard these precious remembered. Of course, something told her that many years had passed since this place had closed. There had been a metal gate, perhaps bronze, she couldn't be sure, but the hinges in the stone were all that remained.

The pathway from the footpath outside led in a slightly curving fashion into the centre of the grounds. An ancient crematorium lay in ruins. Its large chimney was gone, but the opening where it had sprouted had allowed for years of rain to enter and contaminate whatever had existed within. The building had been simple red brick, but those two were now tainted by age and weather. The wooden door had collapsed inwards, buckling as the mahogany absorbed more water than it could hold. The windows were broken and cracked in most places but that cause seemed more to be a natural expression of age as opposed to intended vandalism, unlike the scrawled letters in florescent coloured paints. The purpose of the messages could not be contemplated upon due again to the slow march of time.

She walked away from that hut, not really desiring to enter even if it had been in better condition. A sign to her right stood stubbornly, pointing to the eastern portion of the graves, they looked newer, even maintained… more so then the others.

"In memory of our honoured war dead: Veterans and fallen soldiers".

Something about that sign, something about the words struck a cord with her. A realisation? A memory? Perhaps just polite social conditioning? Curiosity got the better of her, and she headed along the dilapidated pathway. Grass all across the cemetery was overgrown, yet in parts there were sections of dirt where the grass had died and withered away or had never sprouted. The cobble stones were faded, smooth from the gradual process of rain's erosion throughout the seasons and in parts, the soft fluffy green of moss crept over the ones closer to the edges of the field.

The trees were bare for the most part, an indication of seasonal trend… or perhaps just dead, like so many other things in this place. Some trees seemed to be bucking the trend, evergreens most likely. A large tree stood firm and unwavering several metres ahead, its massive trunk healthy and brown, its bark rough, and home to other species of moss and small plant life. She stood under it and reached for it, her fingertips running down the course skin. A smile tugged at her lips as she glanced up to see the intrigue pattern with which branches and twigs sprung out, a rich green variation of leaves of different sizes adorning the tips. It was restful, and it came with some sort of memory. Of a tree. How strange? She considered, that such an organism, could illicit such a response. Perhaps a tree of similar species grew in a child hood home? Or holiday location? Or school yard? A tree where years of playing took place? Of adventure, of fear, of reassurance? Regardless of its causality, it gave her another piece of the puzzle, no matter apparently mysteriously sparse.

The smile continued on her slightly bruised lips as she turned back to the pathway, heading towards the portion of the cemetery that she felt compelled to investigate.

ooOOoo

The Veterans' section of the cemetery was probably similar to many others of the same use. The lay out, the selection of greenery – not that the majority remained green. She stood there, watching a rather unwell looking pigeon picking about amongst the graves, its objectives were its own. It wasn't a huge cemetery, and this portion was no different, five rows, with only about 20 graves to each row. 100 odd graves over more then 100 years wasn't that bad really? Why was she suddenly not repulsed by that thought? It was insensitive, wasn't it? There was that feeling again, that sudden urge that war was known to her, that the realities of war was death, for a lot of people, soldiers and civilians, and any one else ignorant or unlucky enough to get caught in the cross fire.

There was a war memorial of sorts towards the back of the section, and the whole area was fenced with a short head, dead of course, age and lack of care had pushed it into its own demise…. Somehow it still seemed appropriate; it didn't appear to diverge from the meaning this place instilled. Of its significance.

The young woman walked along the rows, her bare feet sometimes protesting at the occasional twig or stone that lay hidden in the long grass. Reaching the end of the third row something caught her eye; she headed towards it, and dropped to her knees at the grave. It took her a few minutes to scrape away the moss and dirt dried on from years of exposure from the misshapen stone marker.

"In Memory of Private Edward William Witwicky. b. 1898 d. 1917. Fell in Europe, remains there. Son. Brother. Uncle".

That name.

That name Witwicky. It meant something. Something important. But what?

It started to rain. She sat back on the soles of her feet and stared that the grave as the cold water soaked her through. The cold was refreshing on her wounds, but the chill slowly seeped into her body, almost penetrating her bones.

"I know you".

She whispered.

She had the thought that she had never believed in coincidences, but this, whatever _this _was, was something she didn't think she should ignore.

Reaching out again she rested her hands on the top of the knee higher monument. Perhaps touching it, gripping it, somehow it might pull memory to the surface, awareness of self, realisation? When nothing happened, nothing beyond that initiation spark of recall she lowered her head in frustration, resting her forehead against the cold, wet rock, squeezing her eyes shut, a single tear rolled down her bruised cheek.

She wasn't alone.

The feeling was sudden, unsettling, she lifted her head slowly to see the figure standing between the trees on the perimeter. The same figure from the factory, shadowed in the bleakness cast by dead and dying trees, too old to care or to show concern. The rain bounced off the figure adding to it a sort of ethereal presence. The woman staggered up and slightly backwards, loosing her footing once in the soft ground, but not falling. Arcee turned and started to hurry in the opposite direction. Whoever it was, she decided, why ever they were stalking her, regardless of any questions they could answer, Arcee decided she didn't want to be know… not from them.

Turning away from the figure completely now she began to run, finding strength in her body she wasn't aware she had, speed and the courage to continue… or perhaps it was fear, driven by a gnawing, gripping trepidation that had been honed from millions of years of programming… no wait, evolution?

The woman reached the edge of the grave yard, she clambered up over the short stone fence and catching her foot on a protruding shrub's overgrown and long dead branches, she fell face first onto the pavement on the other side. Rolling over quickly, pushing herself up and ignoring the pain she looked back towards, sucking in air, trying to catch her breath, wiping the rain and sweat from her brow. They were gone. The figure, the creepy sensation of being watched… perhaps even chased? Had they chased her? She wasn't sure, like so many other things right now, she just wasn't sure.

She sighed with a touch of irritation as she slumped down to sit upon the rough, damp fence. The street remained empty of life, of activity as she gave quick glances to each direction.

"Witwicky".

She breathed out heavily.

Resting her head in her hands and her elbows on her knees she took several minutes to catch her breath, the heat her body had expended keeping the cold from the rain at bay. Glancing down at her feet, watching the rain wash off the dirt and the blades of grass and what looked like half a fly, she felt peace for the first time in a long time, even if she inwardly knew it wouldn't last. The cold started to inch in, insidious, not overly obtrusive. In her mind she knew she had to go now, to try and find this Witwicky and whatever other secrets her mind had locked away from her.

Standing, the cold hit her full force, she needed to find shelter, at least until the rain eased, she needed to find clothing. The singlet top and small pair of shorts had lost their usefulness, she needed to upgrade. They clung to her body, wet, dirty and torn. An awareness entered her then, an emotion… shame? Yes, shame. She couldn't be out in public dressed in so little. It was wrong, yet, somehow, it didn't fit. It was right to be modest. It was desirable. It was morally acceptable. Yet, those morals didn't apply to her. Why?

Midway across the lonely road she took pause and took lengthy glances at each of the two directions she could head. Up ahead to her right she could see an intersection, a large factory like smoke stack was acting as a land mark, in the opposite direction she could see the road travelled down towards a sparser population of buildings. Perhaps right was the direction she needed to head, but she'd have to be careful now, this shame, this lack of modesty, it could cause people to notice… why was that a bother? Didn't she need help? What did she need?

She was aware of being annoyed at so many questions that seemed to have no answers. Making it across the road completely, stepping onto the footpath, she decided to head right, in the hope of finding more clothing; and perhaps finding the link between a decades dead solider in a graveyard that had had no care for just as long.


	12. Vēnātor

**Author's NB**: I wish I could say this was some of my more exciting work, but if I said that, I'd be a dirty liar. The next few chapters were written in the wee hours of the morning as I was on a night shift. I've read over it in a more Godly hour, so hopefully any hideous quirks of grammar, spelling and plot have been removed.

ooOOoo

**Chapter 12**

**Vēnātor**

(The Hunter)

It mostly served the industrial area, the small bakery, another couple of cafes a petrol station and a small clothing shop attached to the post office. Only the bakery was open at that time of morning. The comforting smells of fresh bread and cakes wafted out from the inviting doors and towards the woman, wrapping her in sensations and cravings she didn't know she could possess. Something inside sought desire, satisfaction, but something else brought her back into reality.

You have no creds.

Creds? She wondered what that was.

Its currency, which is exchanged for goods and services. You have nothing.

The thoughts passed through her mind, saddening her somewhat as she knew the experience would progress no further than simply smelling. That concept of a foreign modesty reminded her that she wouldn't be able to enter the shop. The woman gave a slight sigh and stood beneath a dying tree, trying to find shelter from the ever chilling rain.

The once pleasant morning, sunny and inviting had now seemed to have lost its footing to a day that would be gloomy, macabre and wet in its prospects. From her vantage she could see a man in the bakery, but his back was to her, and even if it wasn't, she didn't think he could see her. She couldn't even see him clearly enough to discern what he was doing.

Something caught her eye, outside the post office. An ATM. That voice in her head gave her a slight prod that she could gain currency from that. She approached it cautiously; aware that the man in the bakery would have a clear view of her if she was careless about where she stood. A woman in a soaking wet pair of shorts and singlet top and nothing else would gain suspicion. Maybe.

There was a natural sort of casualness in the action she took to wrap her chilled arms around her upper body, a hug anyone would give themselves as they started to fall prey to the poor choice of weather. Dipping her head she exhaled warm air down onto her arms, the breath catching against her damp skin, but only lingering for a moment. She crossed the road and walked as if she had every right to be there. The ATM was an older style machine, the numbers had worn from their squares, and the gaps between each one were filled with substances she thought better to consider.

The voice within her head returned, a whisper, or perhaps just a simple instinct that informed her that she required a card.

"Yes, that's right; I have to insert a card".

A moment where horror flooded over her, that she had spoken out loud in a public place... but there was no one within ear shot… well, there was no one.

She glimpsed quickly over her shoulder and the man in the bakery was no longer within her line of sight, he'd probably gone into the back of the shop.

What do I do now?

Good, keep those thoughts in your head.

But the social graces didn't help her now. She stood staring at the machine, what could she do without an access card? What could she do in such a public place? Even on such a miserable day humans would be going about their business, heading into this part of the city and while it may not have been the centre of the city and as sad as the industrial buildings were looking, it was a place that was going to be quite lively soon.

Humans?

Yes, humans, that's what they were called… she looked at her hands… that's what she was?

The thought was bumped out of her head rather quickly when she noticed she had stepped up close to the machine. One of those hands she had so intensely studied reached out and brushed over the well-worn key pad.

It was almost by instinct, by some well-honed understanding of concepts she could no longer grasp, her fingers started to press the buttons in sequences which seemed embedded in her head. The machine gasped out a rapid series of beeps and then the lip lifted over the slot and a rather large wad of cash protruded. That soft, cold human hand clasped the money and removed it. It seemed inappropriate to stand there and count it, perhaps even dangerous. She looked around and found no one in the street, although an elderly woman appeared in the window of the post shop slash clothing store, she reached up and pulled on a string that opened the blinds covering the closed door.

Arcee, though not knowing that was her name, approached the store and knocked on the door. The money still bundled in her hand. The woman's face appeared in the window and she seemed somewhat surprised. There was a click, and she opened the door, but only a few centimetres as the chain was still latched.

"Are you alright? Can I help you?"

"Ah… look, this is all very embarrassing".

Arcee stammered.

"I was out last night… I'm getting married you see… well, not today, obviously".

It was probably better to add in that element of marriage to justify any follow up description of drunken shenanigans, then just telling the old, conservative looking woman that she was out on the town and ended up half naked as a result… in an industrial area no doubt.

The old woman smiled knowingly.

"Say no more, come inside".

"I do have money".

She held up the soggy wad.

The woman chuckled and ushered her into the shop.

"I have to set up the till for the day, so pick out what you need and we'll go from there".

The shop keep pointed towards the racks of rather frumpy looking clothing and then disappeared behind a stand covered in seemingly dreary looking sympathy cards.

At one point in its history the building had been two separate shops, divided by a solid looking cinder block wall, part of it still remained, carefully, but probably illegally deconstructed enough to allow a wide arc way. The floor was strangely slanted towards the clothing and the wooden boards would creak in protest if someone walked through the division. The areas that were carpeted would have likely been more inviting without the faded slab of wool, what colour it had been was now unrecognisable – like the old woman's hair. Wall paper had been painted over, the windows were filthy, the curtains worn and tattered and it provided an unpleasant juxtaposition to the very new looking blinds. Despite the age of the building, the materials used in its construction, and the odd assortment of products within, the building had no character… could that be classed as character in of itself? The clothes mirrored that lack of order, that lack of personality.

Dresses hung from the first unstable rack. They were all essentially identical, with perhaps the only difference in sizing. A bleak looking tan colour, would probably hang below the knee and the neck line would sit just above the collar bone.

Whoever she had been, she was sure she would have considered this ugly.

There were only three other racks, one had an assortment of rather unsavoury looking blouses, mostly floral printed, long sleeved, and done up at the wrist with flower shaped buttons. The other two held a mishmash of clothes, pants, jackets skirts.

She selected a pair of black pants; they had no shape to them, were poorly tailored but were the only pair with pockets. For the top she took a dark pink cardigan, for some reason the colour resonated with her. It was larger and her frame was lost under it, but it was light wool and finely knitted, her only criticism of it was the zip seemed out of place on it. It had large teeth and the tab had a strange symbol, oversized and a little clunky. Probably the manufacturer's logo. She shrugged. It'd do the job. A few moments longer were given to shoe selection, given the importance of such an item. Finally, a pair of dark brown, soft soled lace up shoes, holding no feature of noteworthy value was selected but they fitted and they were somewhat comfortable. Approaching the counter she realised there were really only two selections in this store, what didn't appeal and what didn't fit.

At the counter she found a large stand holding scarves and hats, she stood for a few minutes examining a particularly well sewn beret. For the most part it was black, but it had a delicate pastel pink trim that ran around the edge. It gave it a level of sophistication that was out of place in this… dump.

Placing the items on the counter the older woman noted the prices and punched them into the ancient looking cash register. She was possibly 65, maybe a good 70. Her hair was totally white making it impossible to determine what had been her natural tone in her younger days, she had repeated that thought as she contemplated the carpet. Her eyes were a dulled grey but gave the impression she had lived a boring, uneventful life; that was the impression yet the young woman had no desire to converse with intent to correct or support that assumption. Her makeup was sparse, well done and considered which didn't seem right given everything else about the woman and her surrounds. The clothing she wore looked as if it had come straight from the shop. A frumpy looking jersey that hung awkwardly from her plump shoulders, tightened probably too much around her ample bosom and then had about as much shape as a sack around her mid-section. A long denim, faded of course, skirt finished the ensemble, and that's when the young blond noticed this woman wore no shoes.

Arcee, though unaware that was her name, handed the woman a few of the bills, made a comment about keeping the change, as she felt that was socially appropriate, thanked the woman for her kindness and left. For her part, the shop keep felt the early morning customer was rude, ill-mannered and a poor planner, woe to her future husband, but decided to step out of her character and hold her tongue. It was, after all, a probably ignominious end to a debauched hen's night, a fitting if not immoral end to singlehood.

The woman changed quickly behind the shop and as she zipped up the cardy was confident she could now walk the streets without arousing too much suspicion; at least in this part of town. An area of a more sophisticated slant might cause her issues. The rain still continued to fall, but it'd changed its form from sluggish, irritatingly large blobs of water, to wispy non-coherent sprays that seemed to have no logic or pattern to their trajectory. Bunching her long and now soggy strands of amber locks under the beret she leant against the unforgivingly scratchy brick wall. Yet another sigh escaped her, and she wondered if such luck would last, if finding out she could hack money machines and buying dowdy rags could be classed as luck. Just as she had finished that thought, she was overwhelmed by the feeling she was being watched. It was a feeling that was becoming all too familiar, and one that she had decided at its first instance was not welcome. She slowed her breathing and stood away from the building; she craned her head along the planes of horizontal direction and then looked up.

There.

In the window. Second floor of the three story building. An empty building. She hadn't noticed it before; it was directly opposite one of the smaller cafes which only now were showing signs of life. In that window, on the second story, a figure was standing… The bleakness of the morning, the darkness cast by the building facing away from the slowly growing sun light, the sheer of the misty rains, it all added to her inability to distinguish the direction the figure was looking, or even facing. Perhaps it had its back to her? No, it was definitely giving off that "I'm watching _you_", vibe. The woman hurried out of the side alley and onto the street, getting a better view of the structure. Perhaps the blatant fact that it was boarded up had detracted her attention and instructed her brain to just ignore it. It was condemned, or at the very least abandoned and so could serve no purpose. So how did the figure get in? How had they entered a building with all its exits boarded up tightly? Of course… she hadn't seen the back of the building or perhaps they'd just climbed up a fire escape and got into that second floor room. Whatever their path had been, whatever the lay out of the building's entrance ways, what was known to the young woman was that they were looking at her… following her… before it had just been an unsettling coincidence, now it was looking more and more like this individual was following her. Hunting?

Maybe they knew something about her past? Something about who she was? Perhaps then, this person was someone to be pursued, not feared? The figure was no longer in her field of vision as she stood out the front of the building. Regardless of their intentions and of her current predicament, she knew one thing, she was not armed, she had no way to defend herself. They could be. That was reason enough to be cautious. The woman decided to leave this area, to find out how the dead solider from the desolate cemetery could trigger a sense of familiarity in her.

It might not have been much, but it was a lead.


	13. Pluere

**Chapter 13**

**Pluere**

(It is raining)

By midday she found herself sitting under a gazebo, like so many other objects in this area, it was old, worn and tired looking. A coat of paint probably wouldn't go astray. The more she saw of this part of town, the more she realised it just wasn't something the city council viewed as a worthwhile or viable real estate. There were people, of course, going about their daily business, even in the steady stream of rain as it varied between a light drizzle and a heavy down pour. The gazebo was situated under several large willows; their branches hung a little lower than usual with the water deposited by the rain. In summer, she imagined, this place would be quite lovely. What season was it now, anyway? She didn't know. Assortments of trees, bushes and other plant life divided the park into about four sections, with a central circular area that seem to get the majority of the foot traffic. A swing, slide and roundabout sat to the right of the centre most point, but they looked so worn, rusted in parts, and disturbingly unattended, there was an occasional grating sound from the disused metal rubbing somewhere in one of the structures, it added a rather eerie dimension to the empty playground. A thought passed through her mind and she was unsure if it was just a logical conclusion or a throwback to some locked up memory. A child. She'd never let him play there. Too unsafe.

A desire, one she had been ignoring since she had crawled into that rusty old cab the night before, built itself to a climax she could no longer ignore. She was hungry. The rain came in dull blobs now. Rain or not, she needed to refuel. Her mind, exhausted, tired, frightened, didn't recognise the inappropriate verb used. Standing at the edge of the structure she spent a few moments trying to psych herself up, trying to motivate herself to take that step out from relative dryness, as chilled and uncomfortable as it was, and into the bleakness of the midday drizzle. A fleeting movement of thought and the swift wisp of an unknown memory passed into her mind, a voice telling her to tighten her spark plugs, get over herself and get out there. What an odd series of statements, but they gave her the motivation to move. Or at the very least, the boredom of standing there watching the rain and the realisation that she was just going to have to do it and the sooner she did it, the sooner she could find something to eat and the sooner she could get back to this sorry blot on the landscape… or find some equally miserable hotel to stay in for the night.

There were two people walking ahead of her along the thinning pavement that passed right through the park, she had come in on it from the other entrance. Their rain coats and umbrellas prevented her getting a good look at them, but she could see they both wore heavy work boots, steel capped and heeled by the sounds they made with each footstep. Their pants looked to be of heavy material and their size indicated both male. Taller than average. Fit build. Most likely men one best not engage in a clandestine fisty cuffs. They walked ahead of her, unaware or unconcerned with her presence. They moved swiftly, manly or not they obviously had no patience or desire to tolerate the weather.

After about five minutes by her estimate, they reached the exit. It led out onto a back street behind a rather large factory, one which seemed operational. She stopped at the gate way and watched them rush across the road and through a security check point. Something was triggered within her. A familiarity, one which brought both sentimentality and fear; experiences she couldn't recall but that she instinctively knew to be separate. Divided. Linked to each other, but not of each other. Confusion, something she was now well aquainted with. This was starting to frustrate her. She looked over her shoulder to make sure that damn… whoever they were… wasn't following her. It was becoming a bad habit, this looking over her shoulder, looking around, glancing, glimpsing, it was building into a nice complex with a foundation of paranoia, she wasn't happy about it, but without her memory, her awareness, what could she do? The men were through the check point now and soon amalgamated into a group of like dressed fellows heading into the bowels of one of the more active looking buildings. Then someone was looking at her, she made eye contact with one of the security guards, a portly fellow, probably mid 50s, a heavy moustache, but it was hard to tell from this distance. His gaze deepened her discomfort so she realised she best move on.

ooOOoo

It was an hour of solid steady walking before she reached a small section of shops. Another petite café sitting on the corner of a semi-busy intersection. There was a pasta and pizza shop that was closed until 5pm, a garden supply shop and a sweet shop. They sat each on their own corner, their own niche market operating alongside each other and probably not being able to poach the competition. In fact, it was likely that their difference enabled customers to step into each shop, coming up here for one thing and seeing a shop for another. It was good business sense. There were a few other shops neighbouring the ones on the corners, but they didn't seem worthy of notice as they had nothing she thought she needed

The woman went unnoticed as she entered the café. The patrons that were there concentrated on their own meals and company. The young female human behind the counter smiled politely as Arcee approached.

"What can I get you, or do you want some time to look?"

Her voice and smile came across as happy and obliging, willing to help, but her eyes betrayed her boredom, and the occasional sneaky eye roll towards the clock expressed her desire to finish and find herself elsewhere.

"Um, I'll just have a regular coffee and one of those blueberry muffins. Oh, and perhaps five of those sandwiches".

She pointed at the display case, not having any idea what she was ordering. She realised she had no idea what a regular coffee was but had heard Spike order it so many times that it must be a normal, non-suspicions arousing human fuel.

Spike? Who was Spike?

Another clue to add to the collection?

"Do you want everything to take away, or just the sandwiches?"

The female was clever, a sarcastic tone to her thought.

"No, everything to take away please".

She couldn't remember how to fuel, and figured here was not the best place to try and eat.

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

The woman asked as she handed Arcee the bags and the coffee.

"No, thank you. This is fine".

A strand of blond hair came free from under her beret as she turned; she stopped, pushed it back and then looked over at the female still standing at the till.

"Actually, would you know where there's a cheap hotel, I just need a room for the night?"

"Well, depends what you mean by cheap".

That comment didn't help the blond, and the way she scrunched up her face expressed that quite clearly to the female.

"There's a three star hotel about two busses away. Get the 28b from the stop across from here, and get off at the old tanners mill – it's not actually a tanner's mill, it's a restaurant. Then walk to the intersection directly across from the movie theatre and around the corner you'll find a bus stop with a green roof. Get the 501 to Easts Road. Walk up the road towards the taxi stand – there's a sign at the bus stop. It's not too bad, friendly service, clean and the beds aren't too bad. If you're looking for something a little less noticeable and a little less hygienic, catch the 10b from across the street, it'll stop right outside the "Lazy Breeze" hotel. You can't miss it".

Arcee smiled and thanked the woman, then turned and left.

ooOOoo

She took one sip from the coffee and decided it was something not worth continuing and she dropped the whole thing in the nearby bin. Whoever this Spike was, she was going to have to have words with him about his taste in fuels when she met up with him. The bus, the 28b pulled up, she got on, a little unsure at first, but the bus driver didn't seem concerned as she handed him a twenty dollar bill. He handed her a sticky collection of coins and a ticket with two purple lines through the middle. She took a seat near the front of the bus behind the driver, so she could look out for the landmarks the young female had described.

There had never been a moment where she considered she could get lost. Standing outside the hotel staring up at the well-designed sign as it started to glow in the late afternoon she wondered how she had been so sure of herself following the directions, not missing a stop or running into some sort of obstacle.

Once inside, however, was when she hit a snag.

The man was tall, his features defined, but not overly handsome. His skin was pale, perhaps from lack of sun more than any genetic defect. His eyes green, like a dark moss. His hair was slicked down with probably a smear too much gel. His clothing was immaculate, not a spot or stray hair to be found. His posture equally so. His greeting was flat in tone but sincere.

"You can see our price list here, extras here, and our specials here".

He motioned with well-manicured fingers towards the laminated cards on the desk.

Classy.

That sarcastic inner monologue again. She ignored it.

"Um, can I just get the deluxe single"?

"Of course ma'am, I just need you to fill out your details and to leave a credit card number with the desk".

"I don't have a credit card".

She said sheepishly.

"Then we require a bond of two hundred dollars".

Arcee gave a quick glance down at the sorry looking bills in her hand; she noticed several with the denotation of 100.

"That's fine".

"We also require one form of ID".

Arcee sighed.

"I, um… I've lost my luggage. I flew in this evening and the carrier lost my things".

"You left your wallet in your stowed bags, ma'am?"

He asked a tinge of contemptuous disbelief in his tone.

"It wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done, I can assure you".

"I'm sorry ma'am, but we can forgo the possession of a credit card for the bond, but it is hotel policy to view your ID… with the current political climate, we can't be too careful… terrorists and all".

With the last part of his comment she realised she was dealing simply with a man who knew how to play the part. He probably went home to some cheap, rat infested trailer, an overweight wife and bratty offspring.

"Terrorists of any decent calibre would have fake IDs".

She retorted bluntly.

"Maybe so, but we're trained to spot the fakes".

He paused.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but we can't take your custom".

Arcee hung her head and sighed.

"Well, are there any other hotels close by that would?"

"Best bet is Lazy Breeze".

ooOOoo

To describe Lazy Breeze as a shit hole would be generous.

Somehow she knew she'd seen a lot, lived through a lot, been in many places, and with that hidden knowledge within her, realised this hotel was probably the most desolate, wretched and hideous of all locations.

That could be an exaggeration, but how could she be sure?

She sat within the room. The mattress was broken, a spring jutting out the side. The linen, even though clean, was heavily stained and worn. The carpet equally degraded. There was a bench top on the far side of the room, a small sink, the taps grimy; the cold didn't work and the hot didn't go hot. There was evidence that there'd once been a television. A lamp next to the bed was the only source of light. The bathroom consisted of a toilet, the porcelain so brown she wondered if that had been its original colour. The plastic seat warped and stained. A thick black hair coiled around the hinge. The button on the system had long ago broken off leaving only a small piece of metal to push. The shower next to it was situated over a tiled floor. Most were cracked; others chipped completely, some just missing. There was no source of natural light for the bathroom, and seeing as the switch was broken she couldn't be sure the bulb hanging from that rotting string even worked. The tap for the contraption was well worn dial and when she turned it towards hot, water spluttered out of the head, sprayed forcefully for a moment and then tapered out into a few dribbles. When she noted the state of the towels she figured it was probably best the shower was far from operational.

She ate her muffin and one of the sandwiches. There was no memory of the substances within, or even if she was eating the thing correctly. The label read "ham, cheese, lettuce". It felt odd to be staring at this language, she could read it, she understood it, she knew what those words, ham, cheese and lettuce denoted, but it felt as if it wasn't her language… she'd had this feeling before. It was foreign. Unsettling.

Who the hell was she?

Arcee dared a drink from the tap and then lay down on the bed to try and recharge. The voices of the violent man and the screeching woman in the next room kept her awake until about 2am when exhaustion finally claimed her. Arcee drifted into a sleep that would give her no peace and no answers.

ooOOoo

**Author's NB: **Look, I wish it could be excitement and emotional devastation that serves a viable purpose, but sometimes, chapters have to be boring and trudge along. These few chapters are going to be in that vein.


	14. Fessa

**Chapter 14**

**Fessa**

(I am tired)

It was a heavy rumbling sound that woke her. A sound that accompanied the mechanical vibrations that pushed their way up through the ground, along the bed frame and passing the sheets into her body. A train. She rolled herself over and stared at the dim light that was pushing its way out the holes and frailties in the curtains. Judging by the placement of the shadows and the intensity of the light it was probably somewhere in the vicinity of 0600. Slowly sitting she had the vague notion that she should have a more precise measurement, but how could she if she didn't have a clock or a wrist watch to refer? Another train rattled past, she wondered how long it'd take before the irritation passed and it became just a part of life here she stood up and walked to the door.

The rain still fell, probably had continued all night. A bit heavier this morning. The rain wasn't so irritating when she was out of it; in fact she found the rhythmic pattern of each drop of the tin roof pleasant, relaxing. Safe and sound in a structure that wasn't ransacked or deserted the noise made by these particular phenomena was soothing. The violent voices from the night before were silent now, something to be thankful for. Sitting back on the bed she went to eat another sandwich but stopped when she noted the small creature sitting on the bag.

She recognised it, but couldn't place a name to it. It was about the size of her thumb, a dark brown, perhaps black colour, six legs and long antae… it scuttled away rather swiftly when she moved her hand towards it.

There was a rustle from the bag, she had startled something. The bag fell from the bed side table and the much larger and somewhat more threatening creature bolted out. It was about the size of her hand, a long tail like cord, and black.

Such unhygienic interference ruled out breakfast she mused as she glanced at the remains of the sandwiches. Three more of those little things hurried out and ducked into gaps between the doors under the bench and the floor, another went under the bed, and another still went up the wall. A sickening shiver went over her body; she'd slept in this place.

Check out time was 10, but somehow, rain or not, she felt as if she should move on. At least try and find another hotel, one that she didn't have to share.

ooOOOooo

On the footpath outside the hotel she found a phone booth. A heavy book hung from a plastic cord. The book was soggy in parts and the pages dogged eared. She picked it up and glanced at it, flicking through the pages, Lists of names and numbers…

"Witwicky…"

She thumbed through until she reached the W's.

There were two Witwickies.

Andrea Jane and a S. Witwicky, first initial only.

S could be Spike. Was that one who was familiar? But it only stated the city, Central; it gave no number or address.

Andrea Jane lived at 4240a Windblown Drive.

Maybe Andrea was kin with Spike? Maybe she could help answer her questions… or maybe she'd just slam the door in her face, having no patience to deal with the requests of a crazy woman.

A lost, empty woman.

Perhaps she was crazy.

Arcee ripped the page out of the phonebook and walked out onto the road, she attempted to strain her eyes to the maximum, looking down trying to see if there were any bus stops, there was the one she'd arrived at the night before, but it didn't seem to service multiple busses. She needed a map, a bus exchange. Perhaps there was one in the hotel.

ooOOoo

Arcee had her next burst of luck when she found a map plastered on the wall behind a scuffed plastic shield; her second burst was when she saw that Windblown Drive wasn't far from here. Off the road out the front, but a good four kilometres away. She might be able to walk that distance… if it wasn't for the rain. Her clothing hadn't dried, there was still dampness to it, a musky odour, she couldn't get any worse.

The young woman found she was rather fit, that her stamina was enough that she didn't seem frustrated with the journey. The ground was flat, the footpath whilst damaged and poorly maintained in parts followed parallel to the major road way, which had started to increase its traffic volume around 7am. The tracks that had carried her makeshift alarms ran on the other side of the road. It was a heavy industrial area and she had a hard time imagining that it could branch out into residential zoning within a few K's. The exhausts from the vehicles were annoying, and the heavy stink of diesel started to sink their way into her brain leaving her with nothing else to show but a slowly increasing dull head ache. Her discomfort soon abated, somewhat, when she saw a road sign pointing with "Windblown Drive. For the first time, in a long time, she smiled and hurried just so she could see how Windblown drive fared.

A few small buildings sat on the corner of the main road, which she discovered was simply Industrial Road No. 3. With the exception of their numbers and a few "knick knacks" displayed in the windows they were identical. There was no way to ascertain their function or purpose, just a couple of bland looking kit set buildings. An empty but well fenced paddock neighboured the larger cluster of buildings on the edge of that field was a much larger structure, multiple storied but not all floors holding windows. A service road mirrored the fence's line from the road towards a loading bay beside the factory. Walking past the facility she noticed the animals on the back of one of the larger trucks pulling in and several freezer capable trucks pulling out an alternative road way.

A large older styled sign adorned the front section of the facility; the façade was probably the same age but had been saved for historical purposes and now adorned a very modern structure.

"Henry and Sons Butchery, 1904".

She read aloud as she passed by.

"A little bigger than a butchery now".

Arcee softly whispered.

Once passed the butchery, Windblown Drive stretched out into vast empty lots of both grass and concrete, occasionally dotted was a hut or small building. She passed a post sticking out at an angle, 4001. She couldn't be too far off 4240a. Eventually she reached a series of tin sheds, their numbers started at 4150. It took her another 20 minutes to reach 4240. There was no "a", just straight from 4240 to 4242. On the other side of the road were just empty fields of overgrown grasses with the occasional bout of weeds and vacant concrete slabs. Arcee recognised the feeling of slight frustration. She walked down the small pathway towards the door on the appropriately numbered shed. Knocking she waited, and didn't expect any answer. She got none. Doing a lap around the entire shed yielded no results. The neighbouring buildings seemed just as empty and just as lonely. There was no sign of life, anywhere, no vehicles, no voices, no machinery, not even a light left on accidently by an employee rushing out the door, and this was definitely no residential area.

She pulled out the scrunched up old newsprint paper that made up the phone book page and she glanced down.

Andrea Jane Witwicky, 4240a Winblow Drive, Willowbank.

Winblow?

Arcee slumped down on the steps as the realisation that she had misread the page slowly crept in… she must have seen the name of the street Windblown and confused that with the actual address Ms. Andrea Jane Witwicky lived at. All those damn W's.

She'd have to get Ratchet to run a full systems check on her language recognition software.

Wait… what?

Ratchet? Who was Ratchet? Wasn't a ratchet some kind of tool? Why would she know someone who's name was a tool? Perhaps it was a nick name… but why then would a mechanic need to assess her ability to discern language more closely? Things would pop up in her mind, clues, hints, names, inappropriate words being used in place of others… all these things, did they help her? Could they help her?

Pushing those issues out of her mind she realised she had other more pressing matters. Like the fact she was out in the middle of nowhere, with no map and no ability to really figure out where she was. Perhaps she could walk back to the butchery and talk to someone behind the counter, there had to be a customer service centre, or perhaps just one of those truck drivers.

At least it had stopped raining.


	15. Sōlis ortus

**Chapter 15**

**Sōlis ortus**

(Sunrise)

Evening found her on the other side of town, in a more active and lively district. There had been a friendly duty manager who was out the front of the butchery smoking. He was happy to give her directions to a nearby train station that led into a transport hub in the centre of the city. From there she was able to locate several suitable hotels – whom she rang and found out she didn't need ID to get a room. After purchasing a map she was able to locate Winblow Drive and found it was beyond the city limits off towards the coast. A journey of about two hours via public transport… unless she could rent a car, but she'd most definitely need an ID for that.

She could steal a car.

A random thought, stray and something she felt was completely unacceptable as a means to an end; even if she could conveniently disregard her activities surrounding ATM machines, another of which she had visited later in the afternoon. Rationalisation came in the form of the money in the ATM belonged to no one, but a car did. Taking money from an ATM would disadvantage or inconvenience no one. Yeah, it'd annoy the bank when they found out; but no one was harmed, no one was disadvantaged.

It had been too late too head out to Ms. Witwicky's once she'd found where she was going, so Arcee spent the afternoon as just another nameless face in the crowd of humanity. She upgraded her clothing, bought a ledger and pens, another pair of shoes and an internet capable phone sure it'd come in handy and a better selection of food and liquids.

The hotel room was simple, but clean and well maintained. The single bed was comfortable and the sheets elegant, mint on the pillow was actually quite palette cleansing. There was a desk and chair in the corner next to the door. There was a sink with working taps, a microwave sitting on top of a small bar fridge and a few plates and cups in a door less cupboard over the small oven. The bathroom was quite large and seemed as if it didn't quite fit the Spartan mood of the rom. She enjoyed a long, hot shower, washing the numerous amount of grit and grime from her body, her hair especially had gathered a quite a collection of sediment.

Once she felt clean and after she'd eaten a meal of pre-heated potato and gravy and chicken from a fast food outlet, which left her feeling more seedy then satisfied, she sat down and with the pen and ledger began to compile a list of what she knew, what had triggered memories, if they could be called that, and her current leads. The Witwicky one she'd placed on a page of its own and circled it boldly. She tapped the pen on the page and tried to force her brain to make some connections, but nothing came, so instead she sat and just meditated.

oooOOOooo

Morning came with a more pleasant mood to it, not only were her food stuffs unmolested by various rodent and insect life, the weather had improved greatly. The fanciest of her purchases provided a weather forecast, a max of 21 and a low of 13 currently 14, Celsius. Overcast, maybe showers in the afternoon, but generally fine. That information alone made it a worthwhile purchase, and even better it wasn't like she was personally paying for it.

A thought crossed through her mind, and she added it to her book, on the back page. Ripping it out, screwed it up, she didn't think it was well presented; she then proceeded to write the word "reparations" on the now last page. She started writing down whom she had wronged or lied too, rather intentionally or as a requirement. Whoever she had been, she'd like to think that they wouldn't be happy with such dishonesty.

She paused.

What if she had been dishonest? What if she had been an unpleasant, mean-spirited person? Perhaps even evil? Perhaps then this loss, this emptiness was punishment? Perhaps… what was that concept… karma?

Capping the pen she felt a twinge of sadness, or was it simply guilt? Maybe just that same frustration but coming in a different form. This emptiness, this lack of knowledge of self was without words, without description, was annoying.

Once the ledger was away in the lockable desk she had a breakfast of a wholegrain bread roll, a piece of leftover chicken and a glass of juice. It was enjoyable. She took her time, finding that seemed to extent her enjoyment. The whole process bordered on cathartic. She was not willing to say things were getting better, but at least she was relieved to have one moment where she wasn't in pain or tormented by that deep feeling of emptiness… her wounds still bothered her though, always seeming to wiggle their way into her awareness if she bumped them or considered them directly.

Dressed in her new finery, a mid thigh length black coat, a smoke coloured pleated skirt reaching just below her knees, a light pink short sleeved blouse, a loosely knitted rose scarf and black heels, about two inches and quite clunky, despite their appearance she found them rather comfortable and stable. After running her fingers through her hair she realised she needed… a comb was it? Arcee had also purchased a few items of jewellery, having noted it seemed to be required for females to adorn themselves, her selection of a necklace crafted with heavy rock shaped type segments and a matching bracelet added a well needed touch of individuality to her outfit. The beret topped off her newest attempt to fit into a world she was sure was too foreign to be hers

She was ready, ready for a better day on planet Earth. One that she hoped to be more successful.

ooOOoo

The bus ride to the limit of the city was standard enough, she had no problems finding the buses; she needed to take three. The last stop was at a small cul-de-sac that enabled the bus to turn around and head back the way it came. There were a few men waiting with their hard hats and overalls dirty from a long shift at one of the near by factories. If she never saw another industrial centre for the rest of her life, it'd be too soon. Was that saying? The voice in her head couldn't answer, and she got the internal sensation of a shrug.

From there her next destination was the train station half a block away. It was located behind a warehouse that seemed busier then it should have been at that time of day. The train was already waiting at the stop and there were two men engaged in a heated conversation about something. She paid them no further notice and stepped onto the train taking a seat opposite a man who looked to be dozing. There was a ten minute wait and then finally the train started to move. Five other people had boarded in that time, all taking seats by themselves, all wearing the same sort of overalls and hard hats under their arms or sticking out of bags. The conductor came through and she handed him a few coins, being handed a small strip of coloured paper as a ticket. He said something about it also acting as a free return as long as she used it in the next two hours.

Arcee only had to remain on the train for five stops, a total travelling time of 34 minutes. It pulled up against an empty platform, not even a sign to designate its location, although there were two poles poking about a metre out of the ground that probably once held the board.

A sudden gust of wind picked up and caught her scarf as she stepped from the train, she tugged it closer to her body and crossing her arms over her chest she headed towards the road way. Checking the phone, the GPS pointed to which direction she had to walk, and told her that at her current method of transportation, the walk would take 20 minutes. Probably for the average human she mused. Time to see how good a choice these shoes are, the voice added.

oooOOOooo

The house Ms. Witwicky hopefully lived at was situated at the end of a gravel driveway. A five minute walk from the road. The drive was lined with immature pine trees, the falling needles would catch on the wind gusts and float along, several catching in the woman's hair and clothing, the scarf particularly seemed to attract and hold them. There were beautiful gardens on either side of the drive way behind the trees. An assortment of flowers, bushes and shrubs seemed to be placed haphazardly about the space, yet even in their randomness, perhaps thoughtlessness, it worked. The way the colours mingled, the burst of flowers poking their forms through selections of craggy branches and dried bushes. A "cottage garden", Arcee wondered aloud. She actually stopped and lent against the fence staring out at interestingly rare coloured hydrangeas. Living next to them and thriving, a swan plant. It was the monarch butterflies that had caught her eye and drawn them to the flower bush.

What a picturesque sight! What an amazing place to live! Must require a great deal of maintenance though.

"Can I help you?"

Arcee gasped in surprised and spun around to face the speaker.

He was a man of about 40, maybe 45, African American. He wore navy blue cargo pants and black turtle neck skivvy. A broad hat cast a shadow over his eyes and his massive hands were donned with gardening gloves. A splattering of facial hair formed a well groomed goatee beard.

"Oh! Excuse me!"

She managed to compose herself.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Its just unusual to get visitors out this way, well, female that is. Most we see is the occasional work man whose truck's broken down".

"That's alright, I just wasn't expecting anyone".

"So… you came up a strange driveway to a house that's not yours not expecting anyone? That sounds rather suspect, if you don't' mind me saying so".

There was a hint of a flirtatious tone to his voice. He added a smile.

"Oh, yes, hah. I suppose so! Now, where are my manners, my name's Sally Manchester".

The name of the woman behind the desk at the hotel she checked into… or one of the nurses… or… did it even matter?

"I'm looking for Andrea Witwicky".

"Well, you've found her house, and you've found her grandson, but I'm sorry to say you won't find her here".

"Has she moved?"

"You could say that".

"Do you have a new address; I'm trying to locate a relative, with the last name Witwicky".

If there were no follow up questions she might get away with that lie.

"Um… I always hate to be the bearer of bad news, but my gran died".

"I'm so sorry".

She wasn't sure if she needed to elaborate, but he didn't seem offended so she didn't.

"Yeah, about 15 years ago, so you're a little late".

He chuckled.

"Wow, this is embarrassing. I found her name in the phone book".

She handed him the ripped piece of paper.

"Must be an old one".

He said as he examined it.

"How about you come up to the house, we could chat more up there, and my gran was fastidious at keeping records, especially those of a genealogical nature. You don't look like a murderer, and I can assure you, I'm no rapist".

A chill passed through her, something about the words, what he said, his tone was fine, nothing threatening, nothing sinister, it was actually quite relaxing, amused. He was joking. For the sake of her investigations she was going to just have to push that hunch.

"That'd be great. Maybe you could tell me more about this great garden?"

"Love too!"

ooOOoo

"I was an investment broker for about 10 years, but I didn't like the kind of person it was making me, I was aggressive, rude, dishonest. Worse still I was neglecting my family, spending all the time at the office. I had a fiancé, but she left when she had enough of me standing her up. Anyway, after Gran died I found she'd left all this grandeur to me. So I thought, what the hell, I have enough money to live, I can hang out here and keep the gardens up to my Gran's high standards! This was her life for 60 years, took over when her own nana died. My Gran was 21 then, born and raised here!"

"Its quite magical".

She said, awed.

He handed her a cup of tea in a blue willow patterned cup. It was delicate. Finely painted. Actually looked rather expensive.

"Don't drop that, that cup alone is worth 800$".

"Really?"

She asked, a little stunned.

"No, hehe, probably only fifty cents from an op shop".

The man sat down, with his own cup, taking a sip and relaxing into the chair.

"Gave up coffee as well, and better for it".

From the outside, one would see a colonial styled home, with a few elements of art deco and even a 1950s charm woven in. Obviously a few alterations over the years. Various types of climbing plants grew up the sides of a portion of the house, reaching up a trellis that had been thoughtfully attached. A swinging chair hung from support beams reaching across the veranda. The windows were clean, the door's handle was shiny, new, the paint job looked recent. Once inside the house took on an entirely different character, well, at least the portion she could see. Once through the front door the house opened up into a wide, well lit sitting room which flowed nicely into the dining and kitchen areas. There was a very modern and minimalistic feel to it. The floors were hardwood, polished. The walls were panelled and were nicely finished with a white trim that ran mid wall around the rooms. The kitchen's floor was light brown stone, matching the tiles on the benches. The light fixtures and light switches were all restored, or new designed to look original.

The furnishings seemed too modern, yet didn't seem out of place. Their smooth straight lines and solid colours of black and white accented the minimalistic flow the guy was probably going for…

She didn't have a name for this man.

"I just realised you have me at a disadvantage…"

"Oh yes! How incredibly rude of me!"

He laughed, amazingly not spilling a drop.

"I'm Lou".

"Witwicky?"

She asked after a moment's pause.

"Aw no, that was my Gran's surname, her daughter married a fellow and its his name I carry, McKay".

"Lou McKay?"

"At your service".

He reached across and offered her his hand. Something inside her recognised the gesture so she reached out and shook. A smile was shared.

"So, Miss. Manchester, you said that you were hunting my Gran because of a relative?"

He asked as he took a quick sip from the tea, his eyes continued to watch her.

"Well, I never knew my grandparents, parents divorced when I was a baby, only child, don't know if I have any cousins, raised by my mum and she died a few years back. Over the past few years I've started to feel a little lonely, empty, so I thought lets see if I can find anyone. The name Spike Witwicky came up on an old document, but I don't know much else. I found an old phonebook and here I am".

Lou crossed his legs and took another sip from the tea, savouring it. Earl Grey. The brand his Gran would drink, it brought with it a strong sense of nostalgia, with each sip, each smell, it allowed him a glimpse back into the past, full of memories, pleasant and freeing.

"I understand, Lord knows I understand. I missed out on appreciating my Grandmother as an adult, I have memories of childhood, but they're fleeting, a smell… a taste… a sensation of the morning sun getting in through the gap in the curtains as I slept overnight".

"Any help would be most appreciated, even if you found nothing, that'd at least close this particular Witwicky door… heck, Spike might not be a Witwicky, and whoever they are, might not even be related… but its an usual name, well, I think so".

"Yeah, it is, and there's not too many Witwickys in the area".

"Your Gran and S. Witwicky were the only ones in the phone book".

"Well, I can tell you that Spike Witwicky as a name rings a significant bell… just not sure how".

He paused.

"Gran married into the Witwicky family and her husband had no brothers, he did have one male cousin, and I think that man went onto have a family, in fact, I think his family line is the one that branched out to the Witwicky who befriended the Autobots".

Lou stood up and walked towards a large wooden chest of drawers.

"The what?"

"Autobots. You know, the giant robots from outer space who are having giant robot punch ups with their enemies, the big bad Decepticons?"

"Oh… yeah, them".

Something clicked. Something stirred deep within her. She took a deep sip of her tea and as she looked up, her eyes taking the straight line of view and rested suddenly on the black figure standing in the kitchen, just by the oven. A gasp escaped her and she had to steady herself to prevent any spillage.

"You alright, you look like you've just seen a ghost?"

Lou asked as he turned around, a flimsy card folder in his hands.

Arcee removed her gaze from the figure to answer Lou, telling him she was okay, just swallowed a tea leaf at an odd angle, he giggled, as manly as one could giggle. He sat down, took another sip, and opened the folder. The woman looked back to the kitchen and the figure was gone, taking with it the mental nudge the word "Autobots" gave her.

"So… let's see…"

He flipped through the loose pages.

"Okay, I was right, Gran married into the Witwicky family, she married Clifford William Witwicky, they had one child, my mum. Clifford had a cousin, Archibald William Witwicky, who was quite significantly older than Clifford. Looks like he was about 50 years older… could be a documented boo-boo… ooohhh, awkward".

He paused, a smile tugged at his lips.

"What?"

"Turns out he went a bit nutty, ended up spending his final days in a psych ward… but not before he had two sons, Samuel William Witwicky and Edward William Witwicky".

Arcee wriggled herself towards the edge of the couch, but not before she gave the kitchen another quick look – the figure was gone.

"That's a little sad… says here that Edward died in the Great War, KIA Europe. Doesn't say any more then that".

Lou thumbed carefully through the aged papers.

"Right, basically the Witwicky tree branches out from Clifford and his cousin Archibald's kids. Clifford's name ceased with my Gran marrying, but Samuel had two kids, a girl who died at birth, and a son, Daniel, and Daniel had three kids, two girls and a boy, the girl's aren't documented here, but the boy was called Irving William, and Irving went onto have two sons, Brendon and Steven".

"The name Daniel rings a bell, but I don't have a context".

Arcee said softly.

Lou looked up from the papers, scratched his chin.

"Looking at these names, I don't think Spike Witwicky, Autobot man is related, sorry. Daniel is a common name throughout the Witwicky family lines, William as well. It can make things difficult".

He paused.

"So, you think we're related?"

"Anything's possible, but with my complete lack of any solid knowledge I couldn't say with any credibility".

Arcee smiled.

"How about you have a look through this and I'll go see if there's anything else upstairs, my Gran kept a more detailed series of files, birth certificates, last known addresses, that sort of thing".

"That'd be great, thank you!"

Lou downed the final mouthful of his tea. He stood and headed into the kitchen where he placed the cup on the bench. She heard him ascend the stairs.

The papers were dog eared, but probably not older than 10 years. The names and a few dates had been hastily hand written on the broadly lined pages. Seemed like they had just been someone's jotted notes. There were a few birthdates and names on the next page, but they didn't have any names associated with Witwicky, probably the details of the McKay family.

She stood and walked through into the kitchen; she placed her cup down in the sink and turned the tap on to fill the bottom with just a touch of water. It seemed an odd thing to do, but something inside her urged her to do so, she did the same with Lou's cup.

Cup.

Why was that suddenly familiar?

What was wrong with her? Why was she going through this?

"Who the hell am I?"

She whispered.

"You're who you say you are".

The woman jumped and turned simultaneously.

"Heh, I gotta stop scaring you".

"Sorry, I've just got a jumpy disposition".

"Here's what I could find that's a little more official, it's the best I can do on such short notice. There are boxes of this stuff in the attic; if what you need to determine who you are isn't in this, then I'm happy to look up there".

It had probably once held reams of paper, it was worn around the lid and there was heavy duct tape strapping along the bottom. Lou placed the box on the kitchen bench and undid the frayed rope that wrapped around it. The first bundle of paper was wrapped in an aging plastic bag, the next bundle was secured with three rubber bands, the middle one had snapped and was now sticking to it, the final bundle wasn't secured at all. Once on the table it was about 32cm high.

"That's a lot".

"Pull up a seat, I'll take this lot, you do that and whoever finishes first can do that lot".

Lou handed her the bundle in the plastic bag.

"I'm not overly sure what's in this, might be all bills and solicitations for Christian charities for all I know".

He said as he peeled the rubber bands off and started skimming.

"Look, I really appreciate this, what you're doing for me, its so kind".

"No problem. Sometimes people need a bit of kindness, I know when I was going through the "who am I stage"; I wish someone had shown me a spot of kindness".

oooOOOooo

Lou finally said something; he lifted a small piece of paper and handed it to her.

"You said Daniel rung a bell, as a name?"

"Yeah".

She took the page.

It was a small news paper clipping taped to the page.

_Spike (Steven) and Carly are delighted to announce the safe arrival of their son, Daniel William Witwicky. Mother and son are doing well. Special thanks to Ratchet._

"Seems ole ambassador of Earth Spike Witwicky actually uses a nick name".

Lou smiled.

Arcee lent back in the chair and stared intently at the page. That name, Ratchet. She'd considered that before…

Was she friends with the Autobots? Was she like Spike? Did she work for them? She wasn't related to Spike, she was only using that as a cover. Perhaps finding an Autobot could help her? What if her memory loss was the result of some kind of accident, some kind of battle? Maybe an experiment? Maybe it was intentional? Would the Autobots do that? She'd have to find out more about them, she realised, before she started trying to make actual contact with them. The dots were slowly being connected.

"Look, Lou, thanks so much for all your help, this is definitely the info I need. I think I can move on from here".

"Happy to be of assistance".

Arcee stood up from the table and offered to shake his hand, he gladly obliged.

"Hope you've got a car parked out there, because it a long walk back to the train station".

Lou stated suddenly.

That's when she noticed it was dark outside.

"Frag it! We must have been at it for hours!"

"I don't' want to come across as creepy or perverted, but it seems we're family, and I wouldn't feel like I was being a good cousin or whatever if I let you walk back out into that… there might not be murderers lurking in the bushes but there are some rather sneaky holes that a lady could break an ankle in. There's a spare room upstairs, you're welcome to stay".

"Lou…. I couldn't…"

"Of course you can, you're family, and it seems like you and I are the only family we have".

Arcee smiled, and felt a tear form in her eye, but she prevented it from exiting, sparing her dignity. She gratefully accepted.

They prepared a meal, shared it, conversed for a few hours, and then retired for the evening. Lou showing her to the nicely made bed in a quaintly decorated room. Arcee lay her head down on the soft pillow, sinking into the mattress and wrapping the duvet around her body, she drifted into a comfortable sleep, content, tranquil.


	16. Vērum intrā

**Chapter 16**

**Vērum intrā**

(Into reality)

The chill woke her. Groaning she came out from under a pleasing dream, one in which she knew who she was, but it left her quickly, the friends, family members, their names and faces became fleeting. With her eyes still shut she became aware of the musty odour that seemed to float just above the stink of rotting wood. Arcee rolled onto her back, whatever she was lying on creaked violently and sagged under her backside. Opening her eyes she found herself staring at up at a rather nasty hole in the ceiling. Fibres of the insulation dangled over the edges of the gap. Not far from the hole was a massive distortion where the effects of damp resulted in sagging. It was still dark, at first she considered heavy curtains, but when she turned to the window she found it was broken, the glass shards sat under the opening. All that hung from the frame was one flimsy strip of fabric, full of holes, moth eaten or having just rotted from the rain that would blow inwards.

The woman stood there in the room, her mouth slightly agape.

"Where am I?"

This wasn't the room she'd fallen asleep in… but it matched the shape, the lay out. The bed, the chest of drawers with antique looking lamp sitting atop… but it was now broken on the floor. The wall paper was the same, but now, in her current reality it was peeling from the ceiling. She left the room, cautiously, as when she began her steps the floor started to sag; she was frightened it'd collapse right out from under her.

In the hallway, upstairs, she realised it was the same house. Only older. Messier. Emptier.

"Lou?"

She called out. Her only response was the muffled echo.

Arcee headed to the end of the hall, where the door leading into Lou's room was. Pushing open the door she called his name again, but the same response, nothing.

Lou's room was empty. There was a ceiling to floor window and sliding door which had been boarded over with a single piece of plywood, which was warped in parts and degrading in others. The only other factor of note was the doors from the closet were missing, the hinges still on the wall, rusted. Deep indents marked the carpet where perhaps the bed and heavy furniture had been. Whoever had lived here had made a long life for themselves in this place, the slightly brighter portions of wall paper offered the only reflection that pictures and perhaps a mirror had spent a long time hanging as decoration.

"Lou?"

A little weaker. A lot more unsure.

Once down stairs she walked into the kitchen, she found two broken tea cups, one in the sink, the other on the floor, judging by the dust on the cups, the lifeless spider webs, the way the mould dried into cracked crusts in the bottoms, they'd been there for years, probably decades. The only furniture was the table and chairs she had sat at the night before. There were no boxes of papers, no files of past human genealogies, nothing but dust and grime and a few fragments from the breaking ceiling above. She dropped to her knees, tears now pouring down her face, the sobs came deep and heavy, the pain in her sides from her previous experiences, currently unknown to her, just as her name was unknown, ached viciously. She steadied herself by reaching out with her hands, her beret falling from her head.

"What is wrong with me?!"

There were footsteps then, they interrupted her self-pity.

"Lou?"

She asked, softly, timid.

Arcee turned and looked towards the direction the noise had come, and there it was, standing there, that shadow, dark and dreadful.

It began to descend the stairs, its form obviously not human, the way it moved through the space around it, almost distorting it, the aura it gave off twisting reality as she understood it to be. It was almost a stench, wafting, violent and unsettling, harmful and cruel.

"NO!"

She screeched.

Arcee pushed herself up and ran towards the door, she started pulling on the damaged handle, but it did not yield. How the hell had she gotten in this place?

Stepping back she gave a look over her shoulder to see where it was, still coming down the stairs, as if it had all the time in the world, not concerned with rushing. Arcee found strength she had no way of knowing she had and she kicked out, the force fracturing any stability the ancient wood still held, and it buckled but not enough to provide escape. Another kick forced so much pressure on those rusting hinges that they ripped straight out of the frame, it fell forward. She didn't bother looking back she just ran, out into the early morning, into the darkness, the rain, the cold wind that blew without mercy. Arcee ran until she could no longer run, until her muscles protested their last and gave out; she fell forward in a heap, limbs flailing, every part of her sore, joints aching, no control. The momentum pushed her along the old gravel road for a few metres until finally she stopped. Bloodied, aching, exhausted. She went without protest into the darkness of unconsciousness.

ooOOoo

It was mid-afternoon when she finally woke from her enforced slumber. She lay front down on the rough gravel, her face in profile. Spitting the dirt out of her mouth, including a stone… one of her teeth, she sat up. It was a depressing sight to see the blood covered pebbles, and her white tooth sitting amongst it. Reaching down she picked it up, hoping maybe it was that of a long dead animal. No. It was hers. The bloody socket in her mouth could attest to that. Arcee slowly pulled her legs around so she was sitting with a little more stability, not yet able to find the strength to stand she focussed instead on just how damn sore she was. Her fingers found their way to her face, bruised and battered, much more then it had been. At least she could remember how she got these wounds. The stinging in her hands demanded her attention next, looking down she saw how she'd essentially skinned the fleshier parts of her palms, two of her fingers on her left hand looked to be broken, and the nail from her right thumb had been ripped off, nowhere to be seen. Her jacket had provided some protection for her arms and upper body, but the skirt had rolled up allowing massive grazes and cuts to dig themselves into her thighs. Blood had run down and dried around her ankles and feet, now bare, those apparently comfortable and stable heels gone forever. She lay down, uncomfortable on the rocks, but too tired to care, trying to catch her breath, to find the courage to stand and leave, head back to the train station, and hopefully not gain too much attention.

Lying there she couldn't help but recall the situation she now found herself in. She went to a house, met a man, Lou McKay, had a conversation with him, he kindly opened family records to her, gave her links to people whose names seemed familiar. That seemed pretty straight forward; perhaps she should have been suspicious, why would a complete stranger be so kind and open with another complete stranger? Then there were the boxes of files, the house itself, the meal she ate, the tea she drank, the bed she slept in. Was that all a figment of her imagination?

Then there was the figure. Looming in all its deviance. A walking example of her despair and inner turmoil.

Perhaps she was just bat shit crazy?

But if she was mentally unwell, would she acknowledge she was mentally unwell? Would she spend time contemplating her unwellness?

Logic probably didn't make sense when you were crazy. She thought.

Or…

OR!

What if Lou, the files, all that other stuff, what if all that faffing about was her subconscious giving her clues in a manner she could relate to?

A stupid way to do it; scared her half to death.

She realised she couldn't stay here. She needed to move on. She'd go and track down these Witwickies, Spike, Carly, Daniel. The Autobots. If she was truly nuts they'd soon have her getting the help she needed… after they called the cops.

Standing slowly she tried to take a few steps but found herself falling right back down to the ground.

Her ankle was broken.

oooOOOooo

Arcee watched the sun slowly descending towards its nocturnal resting place. A despair she was used to had begun settling into her around four in the afternoon. She'd turned back to face the house, a run down, dilapidated old hole that really needed to be bulldozed. The gardens that she had seen so full of life, so beautiful and erratic in their lay out were just dried weeds and gapping sections of dirt. The figure was back, but seemed to remain in the house, watching her from the second story, a window that wasn't completely boarded. Of course, it could just be a trick of the light? It remained stationary and the form didn't approach her.

She'd tried calling for help numerous times during the day, but no one came. Her recollection of the walk here was one that was isolated. The gravel drive was a good five minute walk long, and where she was now, she could not see the road. There were only three options, she could just lie here, wait for someone to come find her, harden up, pull herself up and try and make it to the road, or die.

The first option seemed unrealistic, the second unpleasant and the third the default if she didn't find the courage to make a choice.

Looked like it was going to be option number two. Maybe if she made it to the road by about 5, 6ish someone might drive home, heading back to work, or to the night shift, or a police man driving around at night checking for idiots who ventured out into the middle of nowhere with no reliable transport.

Arcee gave her legs three attempts to stand, but after each fall claiming a little more skin and dignity and giving her only pain in response, she decided on crawling. Wrapping her scarf around her more injured hand provided a little padding and protection against the ground, and the other hand she pulled back into the sleeve of her jacket. She began the long, excruciating slog towards salvation.

Somehow knowing it had only taken her five minutes to walk the drive way helped, until she started second guessing herself on the time frame. There was no way she could know how long she'd been pulling herself, so she stopped for a rest.

"I know, I'll check the clock on the phone…"

Inside her head, she heard a voice yell "idiot".

She rolled onto her back and reached into her pocket to feel for that expensive phone, hoping it hadn't fallen out somewhere. It hadn't. It was snugly protected from her shenanigans, in working order, and with 91% power.

1832 hours.

Wait… maybe she could ring someone? 911? Was that the emergency number? But they'd want to know who she was, and they could find out if she was truthful. They'd want to know where she came from and how she got here and how she ended up in such a condition. She could lie, say she was attacked, driven out here by a mugger, but that scenario would raise just as many questions. Perhaps she could say she got drunk and woke up out here… but still, she'd need a name and contacts.

"No, just keep going too the roadway, if I can't make it, then call."

She said to herself, unsure how much further she had to go.

When she heard the howl of some animal, a hungry sounding animal, she decided to make the call. It was an awkward few moments, but the operator said they'd locate her with the GPS tracker in her phone.

She'd just hung up when a fear of hospitals, doctors and nurses descended her. Where that fear had come from, she didn't know, like so many other things. It was too late now, they were coming.

ooOOoo

The ambulance that arrived at the scene was staffed by men who were generally fire fighters; they lifted her easily onto the stretcher, put her in the back of the warm vehicle, said nothing that indicated their judgement of why she was out here, and drove her to a small rural hospital not far from their present location.

She told an extended version of the story she told the shop keep who sold her those frumpy clothes. It had only been about three days previous, but it seemed longer. They accepted it.

Sally Manchester was admitted, x-rayed, had her blood tested, her medical history was taken, she was placed in a room, told not to eat or drink, was hooked up to IV fluids and told to expect surgery within 12 hours.

A nurse entered at one point with a trolley. She introduced herself, explained what she was going to do, made small talk as she set up the dressing packs and then went about cleaning and covering Sally's injuries. A pleasant woman, a strange sense of humour as indicated by the few cheeky, but well intended comments. Jacqui, the nurse, spent a great deal of time and focus on examining the condition of Sally's hands.

"Did the docs look at these when you were in ED?"

She asked, genuinely concerned.

"Not really, they said all this would be sorted out on the ward, and that they were more concerned with my ankle".

"Figures. I think one of the doctors might need to look at your fingers, these two are definitely broken. They'll probably just need strapping, but you never know".

Jacqui was efficient, her sterile technique without question and brought with her a kind and gentle bedside manner, non-threatening and put the empty woman at ease. She cleaned up "the dirty great big mess" she'll made, her words, asked if Sally wanted anything, then left with a cordial farewell for the moment, but a promise she'd come back with a doctor to look over her hands.

Twenty minutes later she returned with a young doctor. A woman with shoulder length blond hair, not unlike her own, but it was straight, naturally or artificially Sally wasn't sure and didn't think it mattered. Nicely tanned, a little overweight, but not grossly so, with chocolate brown eyes. She greeted Sally, snapped on some gloves and started to examine the worst of the broken fingers. After a good three odd minutes of slow and precise inspection the doctor mmm'ed to herself.

"Give it a good clean and cover it lightly, we'll straighten them and strap them when she goes to OT".

Jacqui nodded.

"So that's what we're going to do, Miss Manchester. Jacqui will clean this up and then we'll straighten it properly in theatre, then you'll be under anaesthetic and won't be too bothered by it. I did hear the anaesthetist talking about putting you onto a PCA. Do you know what that is?"

Arcee shook her head, her frayed locks rolling about her bruised and scrapped face.

"A PCA is patient controlled analgesia. It's a syringe in a locked pump that enables you to self-infect pain relief, usually morphine or fentanyl. It's programmed with a maximum dose for a particular time frame, so there's no risk of over dosing. Patients can decide when they want and how often, as long as it is within the programme parameters. Patients find it very effective and we find their pain is managed more efficiently".

The woman known as Sally Manchester nodded in understanding and then the doctor left. Jacqui fastened a better dressing and strapped the fingers lightly for the interum. Just as she finished the door opened and a man appeared.

"Miss. Manchester, I'm Garry, I'm the anaesthetist, I'm going to do a quick assessment and then we'll get you to OT in the next twenty minutes".

"Look, I have to be honest, I don't' have any insurance…"

She said softly, trying not to make eye contact.

"I can pay… I can afford treatment, I just don't have insurance".

"Miss Manchester, this is a Catholic Hospital, we cover a certain amount of patients each year with our charitable budget. If you can pay once you've discharged, you're certainly free to doo so, but in the mean time we're more concerned with fixing you up".

His smile and tone was gentle and sincere. She felt at ease, which was probably his intention; she made a mental note to add this hospital to her "reparations" list.

ooOOoo


	17. condiciōone succurritur ut amīcus

**Chapter 17**

**condiciōne succurritur ut amīcus**

(Conditional friend)

Spike entered the house and found it silent, empty. Wherever his wife was, she wasn't here. The ambassador checked his cell phones, private and business, wondering if there was any messages; there were 12 on his business cell, they could wait. One on private, from Daniel. He was staying at Stacy's till about 2100. Spike checked his watch, 2145.

The man walked into the kitchen and turned the light on; he opened the fridge and found nothing that appealed. There was left over sausages, half a pork chop with soggy crackling edging it, a few bowls of salads, and half a can of spaghetti. He opened the cupboard and grabbed a box of cherrios and started eating. Back in the fridge he grabbed a cold beer to accompany his late night dinner.

Sitting at the table he grabbed his laptop and turned it on. Waiting for it to load he glanced over a wayward book resting on the edge, some girly romance novel judging by the half naked man on the front hugging the woman in a silky nighty. Classy. He rolled his eyes and tossed it towards the magazine rack; it hit the corner and bounced onto the ground, landing open down, a few of the pages bending and the bookmark falling out. Least his wife had been out of the bed room.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there, but when someone knocked on the door he glanced the clock, 24 hour designation like all the time pieces in his comfortable abode. 2204hrs. Most likely his currently unruly son having forgotten his key.

It wasn't his son.

"Wasn't expecting you".

Spike motioned and the man walked in.

"I wont stay long, I know how you hate to have business intrude into home life, gotta have that separation, I'm a family man. I know".

He was a well groomed gentleman, mid to late 50s, clean shaven, even at this time of night, his hair short, but well styled, salt and pepper in colouring, but he carried himself as if he were 20 years younger. A finely tailored suit, dark grey, matching tie, and cufflinks that were little golden shapes of Italy, expensive shoes. Over the top he wore a heavy woollen coat with a dark green scarf.

Spike shut the door behind him, trying to give a nonchalant look outside to see if anyone had noticed the late night visitor.

The man pulled an envelope from his breast pocket and handed it to the Witwicky.

"I can't find your girlfriend, but the loony bin she was stuck in, I have some info on one of the staff. His name is Fredrick, Freddy to his friends, Hathaway. He's using the name Hamilton though. Got quite a record on him, mostly minor offending, theft, fleecing old ladies, was suspected of a few date rapes, but the cops couldn't' get anything to stick. Now, ole Freddy obviously couldn't get a job in the nut house, so Fredrick Hathaway dropped off the radar and Freddy Hamilton showed up".

"That's interesting… a little creepy, don't see what it has to do with my missing friend".

"Well, that's where it gets interesting. Mr. Hamilton slash Hathaway was the last to see your friend, and he spent a great deal of time with her. He works full time, and each shift he worked he was allocated the wing where the woman was. When your metal friends showed up to ask questions, Mr. Hamilton had gone. No show. Has missed four shifts since the day she "escaped".

"You think he had something to do with this?"

"I'm not in the business of making assumptions, just providing information. Your conclusions are yours to have".

"Could you find Hathaway?"

"The question isn't can I find Hathaway, the question is why should I?"

"Name your price".

"Straight to the point, that's what I always liked about you, ambassador".

The man walked across to the mantle piece and picked up the photo of Spike, his father, his wife, her parents and their son, at the time a baby.

"Nice family".

"Half a million. I can't be bothered bartering".

"Done".

"I'll get back to you in 24 hours".

"Good".

Spike showed the man out.

The Witwicky ran his hands through his shaggy hair; it was feeling a little grimy. Time for a shower. Best to keep this development to himself, the Autobots could probably find these links eventually; Red Alert was about two of Springer's emotional outbursts away from getting involved. Once that paranoid security director had his fingers in this particular energon pie, every one of those staff would have their lives open to the most intense scrutiny, from their first grade report cards to how many bloody abortions they'd had.

Spike was three steps up the stairs when the door opened and Daniel crept in.

"You're late, son".

"You're still up".

"It's not even 2300 yet".

"I was at Autobot City".

"Oh really?"

"Stacy's dad works there, did you know that?"

"No, I didn't".

Spike turned and lent on the banister. Daniel closed the door behind him and kicked his shoes off.

"Yeah, he's the head chef at The Block".

"That's a nice restaurant; I took your mother there when it first opened. Did you meet Stacy there?"

"Yip".

There was a comfortable silence between father and son.

"I've heard a rumour, that Arcee is missing, that she's human".

"Really?"

Spike sounded amused.

"Dad, I'm not stupid. Other people may fob it off as nonsense, but you were a Transformer once, even if it was a piece of shit slapped together".

His father said nothing in reply, and the silence became awkward.

"Arcee is my friend, dad, sure I haven't hung out with her in years but…"

Spike gripped the hand rail, lowered his head slightly; obviously teenaged years were keeping Daniel from expressing his true feelings. Still, he knew his son cared, they'd shared a bond very few life forms could, in any capacity.

"Arcee, Rodimus, Springer and Magnus were made human, long story short, they were returned to their bodies, but Arcee was missing. She was admitted to a psych ward, because obviously a human showing up claiming to be an Autobot isn't going to be received well… anyway there was a botch up with the paper work at the ward, she's missing. She was probably dropped off somewhere as a discharge and is probably trying to get back to Autobot City as we speak. She'll likely be avoiding humans, trying to find an Autobot".

"Was she okay in the nut house?"

"As far as I know".

"Are you helping out?"

"As much as I can, son, Perceptor picked my brains over the piece of shit slapped together thing to try and see if there was some sort of psychological response that could be used to predict actions. Its all rather complicated".

"Can I do something?"

"Well, I guess you could go talk to Springer, maybe post flyers tomorrow? But you can't do anything tonight, and missing or not Arcee won't be happy if she found out you were playing truant from school. So get to bed, and try and get to sleep. I know its not what you want to hear, but it's the best we can do at the moment".

Spike looked at his son, watching his face, trying to see what the reaction would be. He sighed softly and rubbed his face with both hands.

"Alright, yeah, bed sounds like a good idea".

ooOOOooo

It was early morning, about 5am, his cell phone rung; Spike rolled over and lifted the phone off the bed side cabinet.

"Witwicky".

He grumbled into the phone, regretting answering it.

"Spike. Found Hathaway, texting you an address to this number".

They hung up and within less than a minute the text came through.

He sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. There was a slight hesitation in his hand as he reached to turn on the light, not wanting to disturb his wife, but the bed was empty next to him.

Wasn't the first time she hadn't slept along side, wouldn't be the last, sometimes she'd stay with a friend, or in a hotel, once even slept in the car. She was capable of looking after herself, so he was never concerned. This was a woman who drove a car at Shockwave, murderers beware! Occasionally, however, Spike worried that the biggest threat to Carly was Carly.

The man dressed casually, black cargo pants, a dark grey shirt with a navy jersey over top. Gave his hair a quick comb through and then headed down stairs, slipping his phones into one of the pockets.

Downstairs he found his wife asleep on the couch.

See, no problem. Carly was fine.

She stirred when he picked up the keys from the dish on the counter.

"Spike?"

"I have to go, Carly, work. I'll be back soon".

Could have just called, but he decided to check out the validity of the address before handing it onto the Autobots.

ooOOoo

Long black. Organic blend. Ethical coffee, apparently. Despite it being a tad less than warm it was soothing. He sat in the car outside the house. A very mundane street, nothing memorable about it, the houses were of similar style, colour differences were slight, even the placement of garden plants were close to identical. There wasn't too much happening at that house. Of course, it had only just gone 6.30am, if there were any people in there they were probably still asleep, or slowly pulling themselves out of bed. Whether or not Hathaway was in there was anyone's guess. The address could be old. Could be wrong.

The last sip was cold, concentrated, but he still swallowed it. He placed the empty cup in the holder and noticed the light in the front room had come on. This was it. Spike got out of the car and walked cautiously up to the door.

A man answered, according to the photos in the file he had been given, it was Hathaway.

"Yeah? It's a bit early friend".

"Freddy? Fredrick Hathaway?"

"How did you…?"

Spike punched him in the face and the man fell backwards into the house. The ambassador stepped over him and shut the door.

"Look, I'm not interested in any of your previous misdeeds, I'm looking for a woman, blond, blue eyed, goes by the name Arcee".

Hathaway looked up from the floor, cradling his broken nose, blood streaming down his face and between his fingers.

"I could put a bullet in your head, and the contacts, friends I have, I'll never have to worry about it being a blot on my record. You'd end up chopped up and in four different corners of the state".

Spike took a gun out from behind his back, having been tucked in his pants.

"The other point of note is I'd be a pretty lousy bastard if I didn't shoot you. Because if you don't tell me what I want to know, I'll let the Autobots know where you live. So far they don't, why, because angry Autobots sometimes do bad things and it's a nuisance job for PR to come up with reasons why Autobots smash up human houses".

The ambassador stood with one foot on the man's chest and aimed the gun at his face, cocking it.

"Okay, okay, okay! I'll tell you! Just for the love of God don't get those bloody robots involved!"

He screeched holding his bloodied hands up in front of his head, peeking out from between his fingers.

"What happened?"

Spike growled.

"I… I drugged her. New experimental thing they never really authorised… not in this country at least... we get it in from China, under the table, we use it on patients who's memories are so terrible that conventional therapies don't work. It's a last resort! Wipes their memories out though, totally! I gave her that shit!"

"Why?"

"So she wouldn't remember, I knew you guys were coming to get her so I doped her up! I was worried she'd report some of our treatments".

He paused, coughed slightly as some of the blood caught in the back of his throat.

"It really corrupt there, for years the doctors have been doing illegal things with drugs, treatments that are banned in other countries… I just wanted to protect my job!"

"So you erased her memory with some drug and then didn't go back to your job?"

"I… I was worried they'd pin it all on me, I'd expressed concerns before, about the treatments, I'm just an orderly, it won't be some shrink who takes the fall, it'll be me, it'll be us schmuck orderlies and a few of the younger nurses".

"Oh please, don't try and pretend you're some humanitarian! I know your history".

"Hey! Those charges never stuck! I was falsely accused!"

"I'm sure you were!"

"Please, just let me go!"

There were tears now, mingled with the blood, snot, spit.

"I'll let you go. I won't tell the Autobots. I'm not interested in anything except where she is, and I know damn well you're not telling me everything".

"I was worried that the drugs might not fully work… that they could start wearing off… that if you got her back maybe you could reverse the effects… there's another drug that if given in 48 hours of the initial dose it can reverse it all… I was scared.. I didn't want to go to jail for freaking out some loonies!"

"So?"

"So I took her out near the eastern industrial sector, left her by a park. I can't remember which one. She was wearing a singlet and shorts, both white. That's it, that's everything I swear!"

Spike looked down at the man, disgusted. He lowered the gun so it was parallel with this thigh and he looked to his left, staring out the window into the shambles of a backyard, fenced by heavy trees. His distraction provided Hathaway an opportunity he wouldn't let pass him by, balling his fists he hammered them down as hard as possible into the Witwickys knees. Spike fell backwards, roaring wiith pain and surprise, dropping the gun.

Hathaway was up on his feet quickly, kicking Spike in the stomach before adding a follow through, but lesser whack to his head. Freddy lunged for the gun and casually picked it up, examining it.

"Does this shoot lasers?"

He asked, a smirk tugging at the left hand corner of his mouth.

"Fuck you!"

The ambassador spat.

"Well, that's not very nice of you".

Added another kick to punctuate "nice".

"I'm not a nice guy, I'll be honest, and I'm quite happy to put a bullet in your head, but not in my dear mother's house, not on this lovely carpet my sister forked out to have laid down… try and increase the value of this dump".

Hathaway crouched down by Spike; he lent forward low and whispered in his ear:

"But I am going to shoot you… right here".

He poked Spike hard in the temple with his index finger.

It was then that every moment in Spike's life where he had struck out at the Decepticons came flooding through, every sneer, every finger gesture, every attempt to hold a Cybertronian sized weapon, every action brave or just plain stupid came into his mind and with it the message of 'you fought off giant robots, this idiot's just a flesh and blood man no taller then 5'11'.

Spike rolled quickly and with his left hand punched the gun out of Hathaway's grip, with his right, he jabbed his finger into the bastard's left eye. As soon as Spike felt the eyeball squish under his finger nail he brought his left hand up and struck a heavy blow on the top of his head. Hathaway wasn't out of the running just yet, he jabbed Spike in the sternum, winding him slightly. The ambassador lost his balance and fell back, his finger slipping out of the eye. Freddy was up, staggering, his hands protecting his face. With his good eye he saw the gun and ran for it. Spike saw too late, and became acutely aware of how badly the situation was going for him when the bullet passed through his right shoulder, the force pushing him back against the wall. He rolled onto his hands and knees, and started to half crawl into the kitchen, his blood staining that lovely new carpet.

"Guess it wasn't a laser. Pity, I was kind of looking forward to it".

Checking the gun over in his hands, particularly wanting to see how many were still chambered. Hathaway looked up and saw Spike's feet disappear into the kitchen.

"Pity about the carpet though".

Hathaway limped around the corner into the kitchen, a look of confusion on his face. Spike couldn't have gone anywhere, the only way in or out of the kitchen was the door he'd crawled through, there was no pantry, just cupboards, and they didn't possess doors.

"Where the fuck did you go, _ambassador?_"

"Here".

And with that, Spike stabbed Hathaway in the back of the neck with the small peering knife, the only sharp knife he could find in the rather empty room.

Freddy dropped to the floor, he was dead. Spike wasn't stupid and while he regretted not having gained more information, with his injuries and Hathaway possessing his gun, to not quickly deal a fatal blow could be his end. Good thing he paid attention to one of First Aid's paranoia inducing lectures on human anatomy. Right between C1 and C2, sever the cord completely. Death almost instant.

The ambassador gritted his teeth as he noted the extent of his injury. Ratchet was going to shit himself an energon cube if he saw this. Not to mention what Prowl was going to say about such actions… taking an investigation into his hands, using a gun to get information out of someone, then stabbing them in the neck… killing them. He had been bluffing about having friends in high enough places to get him out from under a corpse.

He reached into his pocket and took out his phone.

"Damn it all".

He rasped as he dialled, blood smearing over the screen.

"You better not have AIDS…ow".

oooOOOOooo


	18. Sapientia

**Chapter 18**

**Sapientia**

(_in action, _Wisdom)

It'd been a long day. The teen had just reached the corner where the bus would collect him when an Autobot pulled up. Jazz. No, nothing at all unusual about a driverless sentient Porsche pulling up in front of a group of teens, the front passenger door opening and a disembodied voice telling the kid to get in.

"Shit Jazz, you're cool and all… but seesh: discretion!"

He had told the bot, who simply laughed and made a comment about individuality being much more appealing to the ladies, individuality that centred on having giant alien cybernetic life forms as friends. The boy smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. Daniel then asked what was wrong. Jazz tried to deflect, but Daniel wasn't having any of that.

"Come on Jazz, I'm not a dumbarse, something's happened, otherwise you wouldn't be picking me up fro… is Arcee alright?"

"Dunno haven't found her. But your dad's been shot. He's okay; as I was leaving to come get you he was being taken into surgery".

Daniel had asked about his mum, where was she, and Jazz said she was already in transit. Apparently Spike had been shot confronting some guy in regards to an investigation; he had no more information, despite Daniel knowing damn well to the contrary.

Special Ops my arse. Daniel had thought irritably. Worst kept secret in the Autobot forces. Of course he knows more. The Autobot hid behind the friendly, chilled demeanour, always the guy to be trusted, always the one you could count on, but under that well crafted exterior was the mind of a liar. He'd have to be to do what he did, and to have done it for so long and so well. He might not be malicious or deviant in his approach, perhaps his restraint when it came to the truth was intended to protect others? Regardless, Jazz was an antithesis, you could trust him with anything, he'd always come through for you, for his friends, for anyone with that little red face stamped on their chassis, to anyone he thought disenfranchised; but there was always going to be secrets. Things he'd never tell you. He'd outright lie to your face if he concluded it was in_ some_ best interest.

Daniel still really liked him though.

At the hospital, Daniel noticed Prowl and Red Alert standing with First Aid and one of the human doctors. First Aid motioned for the boy and he introduced him to the doctor. The man in his early 60s; a smoker by the smell of him. Dark green eyes and light brown complexion. Doctor Cameron – wasn't sure if that was his first or last name. Daniel was grateful that the man didn't treat him like a baby, he didn't sugar coat it.

Without the lengthy esoteric medical jargon, Spike had been seriously injured, he'd lost a lot of blood, he'd require multiple surgeries and an extensive rehab programme. The bullet had made a "hell of a mess" as the doc put it, when it passed through, cracking and chipping bones, tearing tendons and ligaments and severing an artery. The doctor was sure to tactfully announce how lucky Spike was, and that he should probably go out and get a lotto ticket.

Spike was in OT for 8 hours. After that he spent 6 hours in recovery, he required two further units of blood and was rather sore, the pain causing problems with his blood pressure. Once in the ICU he came down with a touch of post op delirium which resulted in him screaming like a girl, throwing his ice block at the back of a nurse's head, and then getting angry when he couldn't have it back – five second rule, he also started yanking at his catheter and one of his IV lines became a victim before they were able to give him something to calm him down.

Daniel was then brought home by Jazz, who had enough tact to let Daniel sit and be quiet with his thoughts during the drive. Carly was going to remain at the hospital.

According to the somewhat questionable clock in the stove it was 0121 hours when he entered the kitchen. He got the milk out of the fridge, sat at the bench in the darkness and drank from the carton.

"To a normal life!"

He toasted the darkness and skulled it empty.

The gloom was rather refreshing, the silence peaceful after being surrounded by such organised sterilised chaos, it was interrupted by his cell ringing, Stacy's name appeared on the screen, he answered, put it on speaker and rested his head on the bench.

"Bit late".

Came off sounding ruder than intended, but she didn't seem to notice, or simply let it pass.

"Dan, are you okay? I heard about your dad! Been trying to get you all day, guessing you were at the hospital though…"

She tapered off, nervous.

"He's okay, I don't think it's as bad as they're all saying, he's tough, he'll be fine. He's in ICU at the moment, but that's just a precaution because he's had to have a heap of blood".

"So you're still at the hospital?"

"Nah, I'm at home. My mum is there".

"Do you want me to come over? My dad's at work, he's working lates, won't be back till 5am".

Daniel didn't say anything for a moment, a long moment.

"Daniel?"

"Yeah, yeah, come over, that'll be nice".

"Alright, I'll see you in a few".

ooOOOoo

Stacy and Daniel sat at the table. She'd brought chicken.

"Chick-a-fil is awesome".

"Heh, yeah! My dad never lets me eat take out, he says its hideously mass produced, highly refined and full of preservatives and additives!"

"My mum says the same thing; she won't even let me have Sub-Way!"

"Now Stacy, I taught you better than that if you want chicken you know how to season and grill it properly".

Daniel laughed at her impersonation of her father.

"Daniel! That better not be McDonalds I smell, you know those chicken nuggets are 138% skin and hog anus!"

She giggled at the squeaky attempt of his mother.

"Daniel?"

The girl asked after the few minutes of laughing died down.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever wish you just had a normal life? Like no Autobots, no space war?"

"Yeah".

He looked down at his chicken, dipping one of the chips into the mustard he'd gotten from the fridge. He liked mustard on his chips.

"I'm sure your dad will be fine".

She reached across and with her grease covered fingers brushed his hand, he gripped hers and the two were silent, regarding each other, the clicking of the clock in the back ground.

"He's tough, he'll be okay. It's my mmum I worry about. She's kinda in a bad head space at the moment, I have my theories, but my parents will never talk to me about their problems".

"My mum was a lot like that".

"When she… did you blame the Autobots?"

He asked, expressing a level of caution that hadn't existed in their relationship since their first few dates.

"For a while early on, and I was really angry at my dad for still working there, but he told me it wasn't the Autobots' fault, it was the Decepticons. She died because of them, not because of the 'bots. Anyway pays well, I get free food, and it could be worse, he could become one of those over weight shut ins who spend so long on their arse their skin grows into the couch and frankfurters get caught in their flab rolls".

He wasn't sure how to respond so he said nothing. After a few moments he took another handful of chips, covered them in mustard and stuffed them in his gob.

ooOOoo

Stacy left just before 4am, wanting to give herself enough time to beat her father home.

He had forego chivalry and only walked her to his front door, where he watched her reach her car and then shut the door before he could see her get in and drive off. It was a safe enough neighbourhood. He'd like to think it was because criminal elements knew this place was a close knit community of concerned citizens who'd make sure they'd keep an eye out for the sake of their neighbours; that was bullshit. The crims knew the Witwickys lived here, and the Witwickys were friends with the Autobots and you don't fuck with giant alien robots.

Ah, the Autobots.

Life with the Autobots taught him all about grown up morbid concepts, such as mortality and how easily one could find themselves on the other side of it. Oh to have a normal life. His classmates, friends, peers, the kind of life they enjoyed. Faffing about in the world of the living, never consideration to the inescapable fact that one day they'd be a rotting corpse in a box or a pile of ash on the mantle. Young, healthy, beautiful. Death wouldn't dare put so much as a skeletal toe towards them!

Fucking self-centred idiots.

Daniel found himself sitting on his parents' bed. He picked up the photo of them and Bumblebee, in an arcade, smiling, youthful, hard to think of his parents young. His dad was only 15 in that photo, when he'd met the slightly older Carly. That picture always had pride of place in his father's life, always next to his bed, and there was another copy on the desk in his office. Daniel placed it back down and as he did noticed something sitting on the floor, between the table and the wall. Reaching down he picked it up, a few pieces of paper and a photo paper clipped to it. Also on the floor was a scrap of paper:

"Fredrick Hathaway, 17 Theodore Avenue".

Daniel read.

He opened one of the folded pages, it was a poor photo copy that had been then faxed. A rather archaic method of document transfer, he considered. The date and time was stamped for about 4am the morning his father had been shot.

"Wait…"

The boy lowered the pages in his hands and stared ahead as his brain ticked over… Theodore Ave, he'd heard someone say that's where his father had been found. He returned his view back to the paper and saw it was a job application form, but instead of Hathaway it was for Hamilton – but had the same photo, it was the same guy.

The job was for an orderly or janitor at…

Daniel bolted up and ran down the stairs, the papers tightly gripped in his hands flapping against his body as he hurried. He slammed them down on the bench and grabbed the phone book; he started flipping through the pages until he found it.

"Silver Falls, providing both voluntary and secure mental health care…"

It was where Arcee had been taken… where she'd escaped/been lost from.

"He must have known something… dad must have found out…."

The teen whispered to himself.

Daniel grabbed a pen and scrawled the address of the facility down on the back of the paper with Hathaway/Hamilton's details. He picked up the keys to his beat up old car and headed outside, hopefully he wouldn't be pulled over by a cop, the provisions of his license was that he was not meant to be out after 2200hrs.

ooOOoo

Daniel pulled over on the side of the road and parked in front of a random dump of a home. He got out and walked towards the end of the street where it forked into Theodore Ave. The crap shack belonging to Hathaway/Hamilton had been taped off with "Police line: do not cross" but there was no evidence of police, no guards, no Autobot patrol. He approached with something resembling caution more concerned about being caught by an Autobot. The area was certainly low decile, he inwardly mused as he padded across what passed for the front lawn.

The tape seemed to have served its purpose, and the teen ducked under it heading towards the entrance. It was shut, locked. He peered in through the window, careful not to touch the glass; he didn't need to be leaving evidence of his presence. Around the back, he found the door broken, probably long before the activities that put his father in the hospital. It opened without protest with a prod from his foot. Pulling his sleeve down over his fingers he switched the light on. It wasn't overly bright, the bulb slightly flickered, might die soon. There was blood on the floor, quite a lot of it. He tried not to dwell on the fact a lot of it had belonged to his father. He walked cautiously through the dining type area until he reached the kitchen. There was a huge pool of blood and patchy smears up the walls.

"Why did I even come here?"

He growled out loud, rubbing his face with both hands. There was nothing here that would help him. Nothing here would assist him in finding Arcee, if this dead dumbarse even knew anything about Arcee.

What about the rest of the house?

He wondered.

A bright light suddenly illuminated the front portions of the house.

"Shit!"

He gasped; he saw the colours of blue and red glowing slightly amongst the glare.

A cop!

Daniel bolted through the back door the way he'd came, careful that he didn't trudge through the marked smears and drops.

He ducked into a hedge that lined the rather unstable looking wood shed.

The light lessened and eventually whatever purpose the cop had pulled in the driveway for had been served and the car drove off down the road.

Daniel stood.

"What a bloody waste this was".

He whispered into the chilled night.

It started to rain.

Standing on the footpath he looked down the road and he noticed his father's old car. It was one he didn't use very often, perhaps that's why it'd been left, it wasn't parked outside the crime scene, and the Autobots probably couldn't identify it as Spike's – it actually said an awful lot about the investigators' collective competence if they left an unidentified car in situ. A car that a quick door knock down the road would reveal didn't belong to anyone there. That the house was unguarded, and easy to access. That there could still be vital evidence.

Of course, if Prowl and Red Alert had been in that house, they'd have every tiny detail documented and in triplicate by now. Perhaps the house was no longer needed… but the car?

Daniel sighed deeply as the rain bounced off his shoulders; he looked upwards and closed his eyes, opening his mouth, letting the fresh chilled rain dribble into his mouth. He wasn't sure what he'd find if he came out here, and he wasn't sure what to do now that he'd found nothing.

He turned back and faced the house, maybe he needed to go back in, poke about a bit. Maybe he'd find something that Prowl missed… logical, pedantic Prowl and paranoid, functionally delusional Red Alert…

He'd be out of the rain…

He headed back to the house approaching from the other side this time.

Daniel stopped.

At first you really wouldn't know.

It was absolutely obvious what it was.

An old van, same shape as that van in that cartoon with the barely annunciating dog. It was covered with a flimsy tarp that looked like it really served no other purpose in its life other than something you lay down before you build up a bark garden.

It was how it was positioned that made it suspicious.

Did it belong to the house of Hathaway? Or to his neighbour?

The neighbour's property was separated, albeit tenuously, with a shaky looking half fence that stopped half a metre from the rear bumper of the van. There was a solid concrete slab foundation situated so it placed across both sections, the van was more on the neighbour's side than Hathaway's, so it was likely theirs.

But the house looked empty, the kind of empty that indicated no one had lived there in a very long time.

Daniel couldn't get a great look at the decaying detail in the dim light of the early morning, the haze of the rain and the general lack of upkeep.

He rubbed his left eye that was starting to twitch.

"Man, should have had another red bull".

He reached the van and gripped the damp tarp.

"Or five".

He lifted it up just enough to get a view at the back window; it was blocked with something, paper maybe and from the inside. It had been disturbed recently; wouldn't that be out of character if it belonged to the non-existence neighbours in the derelict property? Something caught his attention, the gentle shimmer in the hazy light of the rainy morning and the way it rippled in the mindless breeze… the window? It had been damaged, removed and replaced with cling wrap, firmly secured with heavy duct tape. He pushed his hand against it till it gave way; he scrunched it into a ball. A slender young man, having not yet "bulked up" as his father would often say, the Witwicky had no problem squeezing through. Getting himself up and through the gape was no worry but controlling his descent into the darkened van that took a bit of skill.

From the outside the van looked small, cheap, probably a few miles away from the scrap yard but once present in the back section he found it rather roomy. There was little if any light so he pulled his cell phone out and activated the screen. It provided just enough that he could see the contents.

Lying on the floor was a segment of rope, closer inspection revealed it was simply worn bandages plaited and then plaited again. There was blood on it. Not a lot, but enough to be concerned. Next to the make shift bonds was a scrunched up bundle of material, picking it up with one hand and aiming the cell phone with the other he discovered with a it was a hospital gown from Silver Falls. The sensation of dread washed over it, like an uncomfortable tingling that started at the top of his head and spread down through every cell in his body, refusing to exit once it reached the tips of his toes.

"Arcee".

He whispered.

"What did that shit do with you?"

On the front passenger's seat he found a small sharps container, he popped the lid and carefully poured out the contents. There were multiple syringes and several vials of a medication he couldn't identify. He picked up one of the vials and wrapped it in a tissue he found in the ash tray sitting on the dash, he then slipped it into his pocket. A small docket grabbed his attention he plucked it out and unfurled it. It was a receipt, for petrol, from a station in the eastern industrial centre, dated the day Arcee went missing, early morning – really early.

He had learnt that she'd gone missing before 1000hours.

Had he dumped her somewhere in that area?

Murdered her with these drugs?

He couldn't be sure… wasn't sure if he wanted to be.

A sadness moved through him.

"I'm going to find you, Arcee".

oooOOOooo


	19. Decisio

**Author's NB: **I was kind of hoping I'd have more chapters written by now to upload them in a huge chunk, but I've been lazy/procrastinating/busy. So here's at least one in the hope it motivates me to write more. With that said, there's still two more chapters on me computer, just need edit.

ooOOoo

**Chapter 19**

**decisio**

(Decision)

It had been a present.

A completely needless, essentially useless present.

But Arcee loved it because _he_ had made it.

Little Daniel. 12 at the time. Sent to a Summer camp in a feeble attempt to expose him to some normality. So much death. Prime's death. The amount of corpses he'd seen, human and Autobot…

His parents justified it as he needed to be around kids his own age. That mindless activities, swimming, canoeing, arts and crafts, bush walks, sleep outs, terrible camp dinners and stale sandwiches full of spam and questionable mayonnaises… that'd help him deal with the all that violent loss. The loss of Optimus. An Autobot who no matter how busy he was always had time for the little human. The former archivist had a bit of a soft spot for organics, and their offspring were always so cute… well, of most species. Couple that with the fact Daniel was the offspring of Spike and Carly, honorary Autobots; Daniel pretty much had free run of the big bot's office!

Arcee had been angry.

Prime now lay dead in some space crypt.

So many of her friends in the same construct. Massive. Morbid. It was something they were all happy to see the back of.

Daniel being sent off to spend six weeks with children he didn't know.

"He should be with us, with his family! Who's going to understand him there? He's never had a normal childhood; he can't be expected to grieve properly when he's removed from his normal! We're his normal! He needs to be with us!"

It wasn't so much that his parents thought Daniel would benefit from that stupid camp, or that getting him away from so much destruction would help, it boiled down to Spike and Carly needing space to grieve also. Spike had been one of Prime's closest friends. And now he was dead. Spike just didn't want his son to see him so despondent. He had actually quietly stated too few that he felt jealously towards his son. Daniel had been present when Prime had offlined, Spike had not.

For a long time, years probably, Spike had never been able to face the grief, never been able to find peace with his passing. He was lost, his soul darkening, a cynicism crept into him.

In the darkness of the Ark, abandoned essentially, too many memories for too few left alive, Spike retreated. He would loiter there, unknown, amongst the things that reminded him of such an exciting adolescence. Deep in the bowels of that doomed ship, he resided in Prime's office. Away from the collective mourning of others, he was able to be alone with his, alone in the presence of ghosts and without shame could weep with only his discomposing echoes for company.

His usually upbeat demeanour, broad smile and carefree aura replaced with a quiet, forlorn look etched permanently on his features for the duration of his stay. It was Kup who forced him back into life. Springer had heard rumours of the conversation, but as it had only been between Kup and Spike, they would never be substantiated. Kup might have had one too many stories to tell, but he knew what needed to stay private, safe. Man up, son. What are you, a girl? You've wasted enough time. You have a wife, a son; they need you now more then your own precious emotions. Take your pain, crush it into a ball, and burry it in the back of yourself. Look in on it occasionally, but you keep it there. Alone and unwelcome. Life is for the living. War reminds us of that more violently then anything else. Prime knew it, your father knew it, you know it. Accept it. Now get your arse out of the domains of ghosts and into the sunlight with that pretty wife and mischievous son of yours.

The words seemed too eloquent for Kup, but that what was rumoured.

Springer reflected that it was probably "Harden the hell up, lad, people die, you're gonna, your wife's going to, your son… now get back to work!"

Carly's grief was manifested more acutely in the fact she disappeared for two months, where she went he wasn't entirely sure, but Spike didn't seem worried as he floated between the emptiness of Prime's office that was surrounded by a maze of dimming halls and that rather smelly trailer that sat next to the Ark for the purposes of providing Spike and his father a place to "do human stuff" when they visited.

Her emotional state had definitely been altered, and unlike Spike, he was sure no one sat her down and told her the what for… allowances for gender stereotyping most probably. She hadn't been so keen to spend time with the Autobots after that, even when Optimus and so many others reactivated she was still only seen around them when there was some important official social function.

There were then whispers that there was more going on in their marriage, and that such events were causing Carly to drift away from Spike, not just the Autobots. He'd heard everything from Lesbian affairs to secret covens and the most amusing, a secret surrogate pregnancy that she carried for Chip and his wife…

Yet, despite their obviously sincere pain, Arcee still looked unfavourably on the two after their, as she phrased it "abandonment" of the kid. The femme had even gone so far as to, in her anger and sorrow, say how could two humans who had only known Prime not even quarter a vorn feel the same loss the rest of them were?

Springer certainly kept his vocaliser offline and didn't point out that Arcee had probably spent less time in the company of Optimus then those two tiny bags of flesh.

Then there was the situation with Hot Rod.

Little ole, pain in the aft plates, Hot Rod. Irresponsible. Puerile. Not a care in the universe. An irritation to all in sundry and never far from a swarm of shenanigans.

Suddenly he was Rodimus Prime.

Stupid name.

Leader of the Autobots. Bearer of the Matrix of Leadership.

No more time for shenanigans.

No more time for light hearted antics.

No more time for slacking off.

Meetings. Reports. Battles. Responsibilities.

It was too much. Their relationship never stood a chance.

But it was never much of a relationship, just a wishful bout of flirting.

Arcee was technically with Springer during this.

Springer, like the rest of them, had to adapt to a new planet, a new way of doing things. Ultra Magnus was no longer calling the shots for their little team. Optimus took a different approach to leadership, an "open door policy" was the term coined. Springer still had responsibilities, had to learn a new role, fit in with a new dynamic, new troops, new officers, new everything. The humans had a saying, it was quite appropriate for how their relationship evolved in those first few years on Earth.

Ships passing in the night.

Arcee's new responsibilities brought her in direct contact, close contact, with that little up start, Hot Rod. Sure, he was personable enough, likeable even, once you got over his irritating habit of finding ways to slack off and generally cause nuisance. He was always in someone's office, getting chewed out, pep talks or asked how he thought his needs weren't being met.

Bloody First Aid.

The humans had another saying, one that reflected quite nicely the relationship Arcee was starting to build with the idiot.

Mother hen.

She was determined to mould him into a functional, conscientious and punctual Autobot solider.

Sunstreaker had made the comment, offhand, unaware of Springer's relationship, that Hot Rod certainly knew how to fake it to suck in the lady bots.

Springer hadn't reacted. Just filed it away inside his mind.

He tried to dislike the little oil rag, tried to avoid him, to be sarcastic to the point of being mean, to frighten him. The comments Springer would drop implying that Arcee was his femme he was sure were received.

Was the little slagger a threat? Was he trying to berth Arcee? To steal her away from the wrecker? Probably not a wise move on the young one's part. Arcee would certainly share with Springer her "Hot Rod antic of the day" complete with commentary as to his motives, reasoning and outcomes, but would she be so open about her time spent with Hot Rod, what they got up to, what she had tried to instil in him, if she was being unfaithful? If he was trying something? Arcee knew of Springer's jealous streak, would she risk giving him a reason to pummel Hot Rod into sheet metal with a side note?

Regardless, it was not to be, however close they came, however close Springer came to loosing Arcee to him, it just never happened.

Instead, Rodimus happened.

When Optimus finally returned, when the others rose in similar fashion, it was considered a miracle. Ratchet, once he was up and functional just rolled his optics as a cybernetic life form did and said something along the lines of "well, of course a machine can be reactivated, its just a matter of whether the tech exists". The "tech" didn't exist in Autobot science, not even Decepticon science.

It was a Matrix thing.

That was about as much as Springer cared to know, they were back, alive, and Optimus was back in charge – much to the inexpressible delight of Ultra Magnus.

Except… except Rodimus remained Rodimus. Even after the Matrix was snugly back safe and sound in Optimus' chest, Rodimus was still Rodimus. He didn't revert back to naughty, incorrigible Hot Rod like he had during the "Scourge incident" or that other time when Prime got up and started walking around, thanks to the Quints.

No one could explain it… had anyone even tried? Autobots who had been offline for years, rusting away in some deep space crypt which apparently crashed into an alien sun, no one even bothered trying to explain that. Mention was given about how that "Quintesson incident" was just a ruse, a hologram. Then there were the conspiracy theories.

Poor ole formerly dead Red Alert. He had plenty. First Aid had a heck of a time, or so Springer had heard, when the security director came to the conclusion that he was not, in fact, Red Alert, but some Quintesson doppelganger and actually went as far as to lock himself in the brig. Springer couldn't recall, nor cared, how the young medic had talked Red back to some level of sanity… well, "sanity" when applied to Red.

But things were back to "normal".

So Springer now found himself lying on his berth, the one he shared with Arcee, staring at that bloody useless clock Daniel had made at his camp. At the time Daniel obviously hadn't known or didn't care that Autobots had internal chronometers that kept time more effectively than anything the humans had.

The face was wooden. The numbers soldered in with some primitive heated filament device. The hands were made to look like Transformer hands. It kept very good time though. It'd be about six years old now. He wasn't sure what the life expectancy of a child's made clock was, but it was sturdy, had survived quite a few falls from the side table.

3.14.

In the morning.

Springer had been on afternoons. 1500 – 2330 hours. An easy shift, boring, Decepticons tended to attack either early morning or late at night.

Optimus' bunch on earth had always kept to human routine; the triple changer couldn't remember the reason as it was explained to him in some lengthy spiel from Prowl.

He sat up, threw the sheet from his body. An actual cotton sheet. A habit Arcee had developed since she'd been on Earth. One of the other femmes had told her about it. Ironhide's little lady apparently. The surly, seasoned vet like to have some expensive, high thread count sheet cover him each recharge.

An amusing piece of gossip, one that caught many off guard and earned many odd looks and smirks at the expense of the old warrior.

Even Prime had been known to offer a chortle when reminded.

Springer did have to admit that it was comfortable, offered a strange sort of security, or at least sense of it, no matter how unfounded.

It had just gone 13 days since Arcee had vanished.

The clock maker had come to Springer a few days back, just after Spike had been shot. He confided in him about the little investigation he had undertaken.

He told him about a human named Hathway. The man had worked at the pysch ward where Arcee had been sent. He told him about the house. The van. The little rope. The drugs.

Springer had gone to Perceptor, on the sly, found out what the drugs were. An experimental form of memory control, as Perceptor had phrased it. Illegal in the United States and most other "Western" nations. There were unsubstantiated stories that the drug was being used by intelligence agencies once they had finished their interrogations. Perceptor being Perceptor was more interested in his current scientific process so didn't concern himself why Springer, Aerial Commander, triple changer, wrecker, was asking about an illegal and experimental human pharmaceutical.

Springer had queried how much would be required to wipe someone's memory completely and Perceptor had replied that the reason it was banned in so many places was that the human scientists had been unable to find the correct dosing rates. Everyone was different and everyone reacted differently to the same dose. They had been unable to establish a standard regime, and they had been unable to ascertain how to calculate the amount for an individual. Studies on identical twins had been a horrific failure. A dose for one would do nothing, but the same dose for the other had wiped their memory completely; that particular result, Perceptor stated, had come from their own intelligence connections with humans, countries raiding orphanages and "confiscating" the products of illegal pregnancies once birthed" and using those poor bastards as guinea pigs.

Huh.

And humans called the giant alien robots barbaric?

Perceptor had added after a few moments of silence, that the other problem was that when attempting to remove traumatic memories in some of the study participants that because of the inability to calculate dosing effectively (though they didn't know this at the time), that some of the memories thought eradicated, returned with more intensity than before, one study leaked from one country that would remain nameless, showed 89 of the 121 who's memories returned, committed suicide as a result, the remaining all had varying degrees of insanity and hallucinations.

Essentially, if Arcee had been given this dose, as a human, she was fragged.

Of course, Springer had not informed the scientist that that was the situation, or at least the suspicion. He certainly didn't tell Daniel anything Perceptor had stated.

From there the two had gone to the area where Arcee was suspected to have been dropped. Springer would sit patiently as Daniel went from shop to building asking, showing a photo of Human Arcee.

They had a few successes, Arcee, or rather the human version, had purchased clothing from one shop, been to a café and then had checked into a hotel.

Unfortunately none of those persons could give any definitive answer as to where Arcee was heading. She had told no one her plans, if she indeed had any, they didn't know what her name was, or if she had indeed used a name.

Arcee had been in the area.

She'd gotten money from somewhere.

Enough to buy clothing, food and to rent a hotel room for a few nights.

"At least we know she's alive".

Daniel had said, his tone flat.

After that the two drove around the area, down long drives and past empty buildings on lonely looking plots. Daniel wondered aloud about the large meat works they could see, they asked around, no one had anything really significant. As they were leaving a man came walking out, non-chalant and waved to the boy. Told them about the blond woman he'd met, the instructions he'd given her.

The trail of clues followed out to the middle of nowhere, well, not totally nowhere. But it was rather derelict looking farmland. Amongst it they found a small house, empty, devoid of life… but the door had been broken off its hinges, and according to Springer's scans of the way the rust had been disturbed, recently

Up the drive way they found a woman's shoe.

A closer examination of the shoe, by Perceptor, and with a sample of DNA from the human Arcee, they confirmed she'd worn it.

And from there the trail went cold.

She'd been to the house, slept in the only bed in the place, and then left. Perhaps in a hurry.

Why she was out this way, why had she slept there, why had she left was anyone's guess.

Perceptor was no more help. Nor was the shoe.

Nice shoe, though,

So Springer took Daniel to visit his father, then dropped him off home after only 20 minutes – he was resting, and kinda doped up on pain killers, as the boy had reported.

The triple changer returned to base, did his shift; no one seemed to notice or care that he arrived two hours late, and then returned to his quarters, where he now lay, in the dim light cast through the window, wondering.

Wondering if he'd ever see Arcee again.

Wondering if she was even alive.

Leaning forward he rested his head in his hands as he sat on the edge of the berth. He sighed, long, heavy with the sound of his whirling vents.

He'd retired as soon as his shift was over; wanting to slip in some recharge in the hope he could get up early the next day to continue his search. Not that he really had a purpose. He was just going to return to the rural area and drive around that house's immediate area. Maybe she'd hurt herself, fallen in a ditch. Could be hiding somewhere. Another house perhaps? Daniel was great, able to walk into those little human dwellings and structures, but he was aware of how limited he was with him present. He hadn't managed any recharge, he'd just lain there, waiting, watching that bloody clock.

Springer stood and decided he'd had enough, if he was going to be awake, contemplating Arcee; he could do it whilst driving.


End file.
